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BY 


LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT, 


AUTHOR    OF     "silver     PITCHERS,"     "  LITTLE    WOMEN,"      "  AN     OLD-FASHIONED 

GIRL,"      "little     MEN,"      "EIGHT     COUSINS,"      "  ROSE     IN     BLOOM," 

"under     the     lilacs,"      "jack     and     JILL,"      "  WORK,     A 

STORY     OF     experience,"      "  MOODS,      A     NOVEL," 

"hospital    sketches,"    "aunt    jo's 
scrap-bag." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     brothers. 

1896. 


?z 

h335 
Pr 


Copyright,  1S82, 
By  Louisa  M.  Alcott. 


Copyright,  1896, 
By  J.  S.  P.  Alcott. 


5^\^ 


University  Press  : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  CAMnRtDcB. 


PREFACE. 


Being  forbidden  to  write  anything  at  present 
1  have  collected  various  waifs  and  strays  to  ap- 
pease the  young  people  who  clamor  for  more, 
forgetting  that  mortal  brains  need  rest. 

As  many  girls  have  asked  to  see  what  sort  of 
tales  Jo  March  wrote  at  the  beginning  of  her 
career,  I  have  added  "  The  Baron's  Gloves,"  as  a 
sample  of  the  romantic  •  rubbish  which  paid  so  well 
once  upon  a  time.  If  it  shows  them  what  noi  \o 
write  it  will  not  have  been  rescued  from  oblivion 
in  vain. 

L.  M.  ALCOTT 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Kitty's  Class  Day 5 

Aunt  Kipp 26 

Psyche's  Art 55 

A  Country  Christmas 84 

On  Picket  Duty 124 

The  Baron's  Gloves 156 

My  Red  Cap 251 

What  the  Bells  Saw  and  Said 271 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT'S  WRITINGS. 


Miss  Alcott  is  really  a  benefactor  of  households.  —  H.  H. 

Miss  Alcott  has  a  faculty  of  entering  into  the  lives  and  feelings  of  children 
that  is  conspicuously  wajiting  in  most  writers  who  address  them  ;  and  to  this 
cause,  to  the  cofisciousness  among  her  readers  that  they  are  hearing  about 
feople  like  themselves,  instead  of  abstract  qualities  labelled  with  names,  the 
popularity  of  her  books  is  due.  —  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale. 

Dear  Aimt  Jo  !  You  are  embalmed  in  the  thoughts  and  loves  of  thou-> 
sands  of  little  men  and  women.  —  Exchange. 


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PROVERB     STORIES. 


KITTY'S   CLASS  DAY. 

"  A  stitch  in  time  saves  nine." 


"/^    PRIS,  Pris,  I'm  really  going!     Here's  the  in- 

V_/  vitation  —  rough  paper  —  Chapel  —  spreads  — 
Lj^ceum  Hall  —  everything  splendid  ;  and  Jack  to  take 
care  of  me  !  " 

As  Kitty  burst  into  the  room  and  performed  a  rap- 
turous pas  seul,  waving  the  cards  over  her  head,  sister 
Priscilla  looked  up  from  her  work  with  a  smile  of  satis- 
faction on  her  quiet  face. 

"  Who  invites  you,  dear?  " 

"Why,  Jack,  of  course,  —  dear  old  cousin  Jack. 
Nobod}^  else  ever  thinks  of  me,  or  cares  whether  I  have 
a  bit  of  pleasure  now  and  then.  Is  n't  he  kind  ?  Ma}^  n't 
I  go?  and,  O  Pris,  what  shall  I  wear?" 

Kitt}^  paused  suddenl}^  as  if  the  last  all-important 
question  had  a  solemnizing  effect  upon  both  mind  and 
body. 

"  Wh}',  your  white  muslin,  silk  sacque,  and  new  hat, 
of  course,"  began  Pris  with  an  air  of  surprise.  But 
Kitty  broke  in  impetuously,  — 

"I'll  never  wear  that  old  muslin  again  ;  it's  full  of 
darns,  up  to  my  knees,  and  all  out  of  fashion.     So  is 


6  PROVERB  STORIES. 

m}^  sacqne  ;  and  as  for  my  hat,  though  it  does  well 
enough  here,  it  would  be  absurd  for  Class  Da}-." 

' '  You  don't  expect  an  entirelj'  new  suit  for  this  occa- 
sion, —  do  you?"  asked  Pris,  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  I'll  tell  you  how  I  mean  to  get  it. 
I  've  planned  ever3'thing  ;  for,  though  I  hardly  dreamed 
of  going,  I  amused  myself  by  thinking  how  I  could 
manage  if  I  did  get  invited." 

"  Let  us  hear."  And  Pris  took  up  her  work  with  an 
air  of  resignation. 

"  First,  my  dress,"  began  Kitty,  perching  herself  on 
the  arm  of  the  sofa,  and  entering  into  the  subject  with 
enthusiasm.  "  I  've  got  the  ten  dollars  grandpa  sent  me, 
and  with  eight  of  it  I  'm  going  to  bu}"  Lizzie  King 's 
organdie  muslin.  She  got  it  in  Paris  ;  but  her  aunt  provi- 
dentially —  no,  unfortunately  —  died  ;  so  she  can't  wear 
it,  and  wants  to  get  rid  of  it.  She  is  bigger  than  I  am, 
you  know ;  so  there  is  enough  for  a  little  mantle  or 
sacque,  for  it  is  n't  made  up.  The  skirt  is  cut  off  and 
gored,  with  a  splendid  train  —  " 

"My  dear,  you  don't  mean  3'ou  are  going  to  wear 
one  of  those  absurd,  new-fashioned  dresses  ?  "  exclaimed 
Pris,  lifting  hands  and  eyes. 

"I  do!  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  go  to  Class 
Day  without  a  train.  It 's  been  the  desire  of  my  heart 
to  have  one,  and  now  I  will,  if  I  never  have  another 
gown  to  my  back ! "  returned  Kitty,  with  immense 
decision. 

Pris  shook  her  head,  and  said,  "  Go  on!  "  as  if  pre- 
pared for  an}'-  extravagance  after  that. 

"We  can  make  it  ourselves,"  continued  Kitty,  "  and 
trim  it  with  the  same.     It 's  white  with  blue  stripes  and 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  7 

daisies  in  the  stripes ;  the  loveliest  thing  j^ou  ever  saw, 
find  can't  be  got  here.  So  simple,  yet  distingue,  I  know 
you  '11  like  it.  Next,  my  bonnet,"  —  here  the  solemnity 
of  Kitty's  face  and  manner  was  charming  to  behold. 
"  I  shall  make  it  out  of  one  of  m}^  new  illusion  under- 
sleeves.  I  've  never  worn  them ;  and  the  puffed  part 
will  be  a  plenty  for  a  little  fly-awa}^  bonnet  of  the  latest 
style.  I've  got  blue  ribbons  to  tie  it  with,  and  have 
only  to  look  up  some  daisies  for  the  inside.  With  my 
extra  two  dollars  I  shall  buy  m}^  gloves,  and  pay  my 
fares,  — and  there  I  am,  all  complete." 

She  looked  so  happj^,  so  prett}',  and  full  of  girlish  satis- 
faction, that  sister  Pris  could  n't  bear  to  disturb  the  little 
plan,  much  as  she  disapproved  of  it.  They  were  poor, 
and  every  penny  had  to  be  counted.  There  were  plenty 
of  neighbors  to  gossip  and  criticise,  and  plenty  of  friends 
to  make  disagreeable  remarks  on  any  unusual  extrava- 
gance. Pris  saw  things  with  the  prudent  eyes  of  thirty, 
but  Kitty  with  the  romantic  eyes  of  seventeen  ;  and  the 
elder  sister,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  had  no  wish 
to  sadden  life  to  those  bright  young  eyes,  or  deny  the 
child  a  harmless  pleasure.  She  sewed  thoughtfully  for 
a  minute,  then  looked  up,  sa3ing,  with  the  smile  that 
always  assured  Kitty  the  day  was  won,  — 

''  Get  your  things  together,  and  we  will  see  what  can 
be  done.  But  remember,  dear,  that  it  is  both  bad  taste 
and  bad  economy  for  poor  people  to  tr}^  to  ape  the  rich." 

"You're  a  perfect  angel,  Pris;  so  don't  moralize. 
I  '11  run  and  get  the  dress,  and  we  '11  begin  at  once,  for 
there  is  much  to  do,  and  only  two  days  to  do  it  in." 
And  Kitty  skipped  away,  singing  "  Lauriger  Horatius," 
at  the  top  of  her  voice. 


8  PROVERB   STORIES. 

Priscilla  soon  found  that  the  giiTs  head  waa  completely 
turned  b}^  the  advice  and  example  of  certain  fashionable 
young  neighbors.  It  was  in  vain  for  Pris  to  remonstrate 
and  warn. 

"  Just  this  once  let  me  do  as  others  do,  and  thor- 
oughly enjoy  myself,"  pleaded  Kitty  ;  and  Pris  yielded, 
saying  to  herself,  "  She  shall  have  her  wish,  and  if  she 
learns  a  lesson,  neither  time  nor  money  will  be  lost." 

So  they  snipped  and  sewed,  and  planned  and  pieced, 
going  through  all  the  alternations  of  despair  and  triumph, 
worry  and  satisfaction,  which  women  undergo  when  a 
new  suit  is  under  way.  Company  kept  coming,  for 
news  of  Kitty's  expedition  had  flown  abroad,  and  her 
young  friends  must  just  run  in  to  hear  about  it,  and  ask 
what  she  was  going  to  wear ;  while  Kitt}'  was  so  glad 
and  proud  to  tell,  and  show,  and  enjoy  her  little  triumph 
that  many  half  hours  were  wasted,  and  the  second  da^- 
found  much  still  to  do. 

The  lovely  muslin  did  n't  hold  out,  and  Kitt}'  sacrificed 
the  waist  to  the  train,  for  a  train  she  must  have  or  the 
whole  thing  would  be  an  utter  failure.  A  little  sacque 
was  eked  out,  however,  and  when  the  frills  were  on,  it 
was  "  ravishing,"  as  Kitty  said,  with  a  sigh  of  mingled 
delight  and  fatigue.  The  gored  skirt  was  a  fearful  job, 
as  an}^  one  who  has  ever  plunged  into  the  mj'steries  will 
testify- ;  and  before  the  facing,  even  experienced  Pris 
quailed. 

The  bonnet  also  was  a  trial,  for  when  the  lace  was 
on,  it  was  discoA^ercd  that  the  libbons  did  n't  match  the 
di'css.  Here  was  a  catastrophe !  Kitty  frantically 
rummaged  the  house,  the  shops,  the  stores  of  her  friends, 
and  rummaixed  in  vain.     There  was  no  time  to  send  to 


*■&" 


-^^ 


KITTY'S   CLASS  DAY.  9 

the  cit}' ,  and  despair  was  about  to  foil  on  Kitt}',  when 
Pris  rescued  her  by  quietl}'  making  one  of  the  small 
sacrifices  which  were  eas}^  to  her  because  her  life  was 
spent  for  others.  Some  one  suggested  a  strip  of  blue 
illusion,  —  and  that  could  be  got ;  but,  alas  !  Kitty  had 
no  mone}',  for  the  gloves  were  already  bought.  Pris 
heard  the  lamentations,  and  giving  up  fresh  ribbons  for 
herself,  pulled  her  sister  out  of  a  slough  of  despond  with 
two  yards  of  "  heavenly  tulle." 

"  Now  the  daisies  ;  and  oh,  dear  me,  not  one  can  I 
find  in  this  povertj'-stricken  town,"  sighed  Kitty,  prink- 
ing at  the  glass,  and  fervently  hoping  that  nothing  would 
happen  to  her  complexion  over  night. 

"'  I  see  plenty  just  like  those  on  3'our  dress,"  answered 
Pris,  nodding  toward  the  meadow  full  of  3'oung  white- 
weed. 

"  Pris,  jou  're  a  treasure  !  I  '11  wear  real  ones  ;  they 
keep  well,  I  know,  and  are  so  common  I  can  refresh  my 
bonnet  anywhere-     It's  a  splendid  idea." 

Away  rushed  Kitty  to  return  with  an  apron  full  of 
American  daisies.  A  prett}^  cluster  was  soon  fastened 
just  over  the  left-hand  frizzle  of  bright  hair,  and  the 
little  bonnet  was  complete. 

"  Now,  Pris,  tell  me  how  I  look,"  cried  Kitty,  as  she 
swept  into  the  room  late  that  afternoon  in  full  gala 
costume. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  the  primmest,  the 
sourest,  or  the  most  sensible  creature  in  the  world  to 
say  that  it  wasn't  a  pretty  sight.  The  long  train,  the 
big  chignon,  the  apology  for  a  bonnet,  were  all  ridicu- 
lous,—  no  one  could  deny  that,  —  but  youth,  beaut}', 
and  a  happy  heart  made  even  those  absurdities  charm- 


10  PROVERB   STORIES. 

ing.  The  erect  young  figure  gave  an  air  to  the  crisp 
folds  of  the  delicate  dress ;  the  bright  ej'es  and  fresh 
cheeks  under  the  lace  rosette  made  one  forget  its  size  ; 
and  the  rippling  brown  hair  won  admiration  in  spite  of 
the  ugly  bunch  which  disfigured  the  girl^  head.  The 
httle  jacket  set  ''  divinely,"  the  new  gloves  were  as  im- 
maculate as  white  kids  could  be,  and  to  crown  all, 
Lizzie  King,  in  a  burst  of  generosity,  lent  Kitt}^  the 
blue  and  white  Paris  sunshade  which  she  could  n't  use 
herself. 

' '  Now  I  could  die  content ;  I  'm  perfect  in  all  re- 
spects, and  I  know  Jack  won't  be  ashamed  of  me.  I 
really  owe  it  to  him  to  look  my  best,  you  know,  and 
that's  why  I'm  so  particular,"  said  Kitt}^  in  an  apolo- 
g^ie  tone,  as  she  began  to  lay  awa}^  her  finer}^ 

"  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  every  minute  of  the  time, 
deary.  Don't  forget  to  finish  running  up  the  facing  ;  I  've 
basted  it  carefully,  and  would  do  it  if  m}'  head  did  n't 
ache  so,  I  really  can't  hold  it  up  an}^  longer,"  answered 
Pris,  who  had  worked  like  a  disinterested  bee,  while 
Kitt}^  had  flown  about  like  a  distracted  butterfl3\ 

"  Go  and  lie  down,  3'ou  dear,  kind  soul,  and  don't 
think  of  my  nonsense  again,"  said  Kitt}^,  feeling  re- 
morseful, till  Pris  was  comfortably  asleep,  when  she 
went  to  her  room  and  revelled  in  her  finery  till  bed- 
time. So  absorbed  was  she  in  learning  to  manage  her 
train  gracefully,  that  she  forgot  the  facing  till  very 
late.  Then,  being  worn  out  with  work  and  worr}^,  she 
did,  what  girls  are  too  apt  to  do,  stuck  a  pin  here  and 
there,  and,  trusting  to  Priscilla's  careful  bastings,  left 
it  as  it  was,  retiring  to  dream  of  a  certain  Horace 
Fletcher,  whose  aristocratic  elegance  had  made  a  deep 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  11 

impression  upon  her  during  the  few  evenings  she  had 
seen  him. 

Nothing  could  have  been  lovelier  than  the  morning, 
and  few  hearts  happier  than  Kittj-'s,  as  she  arra3'ed  her- 
self with  the  utmost  care,  and  waited  in  solemn  state  for 
the  carriage  ;  for  muslin  trains  and  dewy  roads  were  in- 
compatible, and  one  luxurj^  brought  another. 

"  M}'  goodness,  where  did  she  get  that  stylish  suit?" 
whispered  Miss  Smith  to  Miss  Jones,  as  Kitty  floated 
into  the  station  with  all  sail  set,  finding  it  impossible  to 
resist  the  temptation  to  astonish  certain  young  ladies 
who  had  snubbed  her  in  times  past,  which  snubs  had 
rankled,  and  were  now  avenged. 

' '  I  looked  ever3'where  for  a  muslin  for  to-day  and 
could  n't  find  any  I  liked,  so  I  was  forced  to  wear  my 
mauve  silk,"  observed  Miss  Smith,  complacently  set- 
tling the  silvery  folds  of  her  dress. 

*'  It's  very  prett}^  but  one  ruins  a  silk  at  Class  Day, 
you  know.  I  thought  this  organdie  would  be  more 
comfortable  and  appropriate  this  warm  day.  A  friend 
brought  it  from  Paris,  and  it 's  like  one  the  Princess  of 
Wales  wore  at  the  great  flower-show  this  year,"  returned 
Kitty,  with  the  air  of  a  young  lady  who  had  all  her 
dresses  from  Paris,  and  was  intimatel}'  acquainted  with 
the  royal  family. 

' '  Those  girls "  were  entirely  extinguished  by  this 
stroke,  and  had  n't  a  word  to  say  for  themselves,  while 
Kitty  casually  mentioned  Horace  Fletcher,  Ljxeum 
Hall,  and  Cousin  Jack,  for  the?/  had  only  a  little  Fresh- 
man brother  to  boast  of,  and  were  7iot  going  to  Lyceum 
Hall. 

As  she  stepped  out  of  the  cars  at  Cambridge,  Jack 


12  PROVERB  STORIES. 

opened  his  honest  bUic  e3xs  and  indulged  in  a  low  whis- 
tle of  astonishment ;  for  if  there  was  an3'thing  he  espe- 
cially hated,  it  was  the  trains,  chignons  and  tin}' bonnets 
then  in  fashion.  He  was  veiy  fond  of  Kitty,  and  prided 
himself  on  being  able  to  show  his  friends  a  girl  who  was 
charming,  and  yet  not  over-dressed. 

"  She  has  made  a  regular  guy  of  herself;  I  won't  tell 
her  so,  and  the  dear  little  soul  shall  have  a  jolly  time  in 
spite  of  her  fuss  and  feathers.  But  I  do  wish  she  had 
let  her  hair  alone  and  worn  that  prett}^  hat  of  hers." 

As  this  thought  passed  through  Jack's  mind  he  smiled 
and  bowed  and  made  his  wa}^  among  the  crowd,  whisper- 
ing as  he  drew  his  cousin's  arm  through  his  own, — 

"Why,  Kitty,  3'ou're  got  up  regardless  of  expense, 
are  n't  you?  I  'm  so  glad  you  came,  we  '11  have  a  rous- 
ing good  time,  and  3'ou  shall  see  all  the  fun." 

"Oh,  thank  3'ou,  Jack!  Do  I  look  nice,  really?  I 
tried  to  be  a  credit  to  you  and  Pris,  and  I  did  have  such 
a  job  of  it.  I  '11  make  3'ou  laugh  over  it  some  time.  A 
carriage  for  me?  Bless  us,  how  fine  we  are!"  and 
Kitty  stepped  in,  feeling  that  only  one  thing  more  was 
needed  to  make  her  cup  overflow.  That  one  thing  was 
speedily  vouchsafed,  for  before  her  skirts  were  smoothl3' 
settled.  Jack  called  out,  in  his  heart3'  wa3%  — 

"How  are  3'ou,  Fletcher?  If  you  are  bound  for 
Chapel  I'll  take  3'ou  up." 

"  Thanks  ;  good-morning,  Miss  Heath." 
It  was  all  done  in  an  instant,  and  the  next  thing 
Kitty  knew  she  was  rolling  awa3^  with  the  elegant 
Horace  sitting  opposite.  How  little  it  takes  to  make  a 
young  girl  happy  !  A  pretty  dress,  sunshine,  and  some- 
body opposite,  and  they  are  blest.     Kitty's  face  glowed 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  13 

and  dimpled  with  pleasure  as  she  glanced  about  her, 
especiallj^  when  she,  sitting  in  state  with  two  gentlemen 
all  to  herself,  passed  "  those  girls  "  walking  in  the  dust 
yritli  a  beardless  boy  ;  she  felt  that  she  could  forgive  past 
slights,  and  did  so  with  a  magnanimous  smile  and  bow. 

Both  Jack  and  Fletcher  had  graduated  the  year  before, 
but  still  took  an  interest  in  their  old  haunts,  and  patro- 
nized the  fellows  who  were  not  yet  through  the  mill,  at 
least  the  Seniors  and  Juniors ;  of  Sophs  and  Freshs 
they  were  sublimely  unconscious.  Greeted  by  frequent 
slaps  on  the  shoulder,  and  hearty  "  How  are  3'ou,  old 
fellows,"  they  piloted  Kitt}^  to  a  seat  in  the  chapel.  An 
excellent  place,  but  the  girl's  satisfaction  was  marred 
b}"  Fletcher's  desertion,  and  she  could  not  see  anything 
attractive  about  the  dashing  young  lady  in  the  pink 
bonnet  to  whom  he  devoted  himself,  "  because  she  was 
a  stranger,"  Kitty  said. 

Everybody"  knows  what  goes  on  in  the  Chapel,  after 
the  fight  and  scramble  are  over.  The  rustle  and  buzz, 
the  music,  the  oratory  and  the  poem,  during  which  the 
men  cheer  and  the  girls  simper ;  the  professors  yawn, 
and  the  poet's  friends  pronounce  him  a  second  Long- 
fellow. Then  the  closing  flourishes,  the  grand  crush, 
and  general  scattering. 

Then  the  fun  really  begins,  as  far  as  the  young  folks 
are  concerned.  They  don't  mind  swarming  up  and 
down  stairs  in  a  solid  phalanx ;  the}^  can  enjoy  half  a 
dozen  courses  of  salad,  ice  and  strawberries,  with  stout 
gentlemen  crushing  their  feet,  anxious  mammas  sticking 
sharp  elbows  into  their  sides,'  and  absent-minded  tutors 
walking  over  them.  They  can  flirt  vigorously  in  a  torrid 
atmosphere  of  dinner,  dust,  and  din  ;  can  smile  with 


14  PROVERB   STORIES. 

hot  coffee  running  down  their  backs,  small  avalanches 
of  ice-cream  descending  upon  their  best  bonnets,  and 
sandwiches,  butter-side  down,  reposing  on  tlieir  delicate 
silks.  The}'  know  that  it  is  a  costl}'  rapture,  but  they 
carefulh'  refrain  from  thinking  of  the  morrow,  and  en- 
ergeticail}^  illustrate  the  Yankee  maxim  which  bids  us 
enjo}'  ourselves  in  our  early  bloom. 

Kitty  did  have  "  a  rousing  good  time  ;  "  for  Jack  was 
devoted,  taking  her  everywhere,  showing  her  everything, 
feeding  and  fanning  her,  and  festooning  her  ti-am  with 
untiring  patience.  How  many  forcible  expressions  he 
mentall}'  indulged  in  as  he  walked  on  that  unlucky 
train  we  will  not  record ;  he  smiled  and  skipped  and 
talked  of  treading  on  flowers  in  a  wa}"  that  would  have 
charmed  Kitt}",  if  some  one  else  had  not  been  hovering 
about  "  The  Daisy,"  as  Fletcher  called  her. 

After  he  returned,  she  neglected  Jack,  who  took  it 
coolly,  and  was  never  in  the  w-ay  unless  she  wanted  him. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Kitty  deliberate!}'  flirted. 
The  little  coquetries,  which  are  as  natural  to  a  ga}' 
young  girl  as  her  laughter,  were  all  in  full  play,  and  had 
she  gone  no  further  no  harm  would  have  been  done. 
lUit,  excited  b}'  the  example  of  those  about  her,  Kitt}" 
tried  to  enact  the  fashionable  3^oung  lad}",  and,  like 
most  novices,  she  overdid  the  part.  Quite  forgetting 
her  cousin,  she  tossed  her  head,  twirled  her  fan,  gave 
allected  little  shrieks  at  college  jokes,  and  talked  col- 
h'ge  slang  in  a  way  that  convulsed  Fletcher,  who  en- 
joyed the  fun  innnensely. 

.lai'k  saw  it  all,  shook  his  head  and  said  nothing;  but 
his  luce  grew  rather  sober  as  he  watched  Kitty,  flushed, 
dishevelled,    and    breathless,    whirling   round    Lyceum 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  15 

Hall,  on  the  arm  of  Fletcher,  who  danced  divinelj',  as  all 
the  girls  agreed.  Jack  had  proposed  going,  bnt  Kitty 
had  frowned,  so  he  fell  back,  leaving  her  to  listen  and 
langh,  blnsh  and  shrink  a  little  at  her  partner's  flower}' 
compliments  and  admiring  glances. 

*'  If  she  stands  that  long  she  's  not  the  girl  I  took  her 
for,"  thought  Jack,  beginning  to  lose  patience.  "  She 
does  n't  look  like  mj^  little  Kitt}-,  and  somehow  I  don't 
feel  half  so  fond  and  proud  of  her  as  usual.  I  know  one 
thing,  my  daughters  shall  never  be  seen  knocking  about 
in  that  stj'le." 

As  if  the  thought  suggested  the  act,  Jack  suddenly 
assumed  an  air  of  paternal  authority,  and,  arresting  his 
cousin  as  she  was  about  to  begin  again,  he  said,  in  a 
tone  she  had  never  heard  before,  — 

"  I  promised  Pris  to  take  care  of  you,  so  I  shall  carry 
you  off  to  rest,  and  put  yourself  to  rights  after  this  game 
of  romps.  I  advise  you  to  do  the  same,  Fletcher,  or 
give  your  friend  in  the  pink  bonnet  a  turn." 

Kitt}'  took  Jack's  arm  pettishly,  but  glanced  over  her 
shoulder  with  such  an  inviting  smile  that  Fletcher  fol- 
lowed, feeling  very  much  like  a  top,  in  danger  of  tumbling 
down  the  instant  he  stopped  spinning.  As  she  came  out 
Kitty's  face  cleared,  and,  assuming  her  sprightliest  air, 
she  spread  her  plumage  and  prepared  to  descend  with 
eflfect,  for  a  party  of  uninvited  peris  stood  at  the  gate 
of  this  Paradise  casting  longing  glances  at  the  forbidden 
splendors  within.  Slowl}',  that  all  might  see  her,  Kitty 
sailed  down,  with  Horace,  the  debonnair,  in  her  wake, 
and  was  just  thinking  to  herself,  "  Those  girls  won't  get 
over  this  very  soon,  I  fancy,"  when  all  in  one  moment 
she   heard   Fletcher  exclaim,   wrathfull}',  "Hang   the 


16  FROVERB  STORIES. 

flounces  !  "  she  saw  a  very  glossy  black  hat  come  skip- 
ping down  the  steps,  felt  a  violent  twitch  backward,  and, 
to  save  herself  from  a  fall,  sat  down  on  the  lower  step 
with  most  undignified  haste. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  bystanders  to  help  laughing, 
for  there  was  Fletcher  hopping  wildly  about,  with  one 
foot  nicely  caught  in  a  muslin  loop,  and  there  sat  Kitt}' 
longing  to  run  away  and  hide  herself,  yet  perfectlj'  help- 
less, while  every  one  tittered.  Miss  Jones  and  Miss 
Smith  laughed  shrilly,  and  the  despised  little  Freshman 
completed  her  mortification,  by  a  feeble  joke  about  Kitty 
Heath's  new  man-trap.  It  was  onl}^  an  instant,  but  it 
seemed  an  hour  before  Fletcher  freed  her,  and  snatchiug 
up  the  dusty  beaver,  left  her  with  a  flushed  countenance 
and  an  abrupt  bow. 

If  it  had  n't  been  for  Jack,  Kitt}^  would  have  burst 
into  tears  then  and  there,  so  terrible  was  the  sense 
of  humiliation  which  oppressed  her.  For  his  sake  she 
controlled  herself,  and,  bundling  up  her  torn  train,  set 
her  teeth,  stared  straight  before  her,  and  let  him  lead 
her  in  dead  silence  to  a  friend's  room  near  b3\  There 
he  locked  the  door,  and  began  to  comfort  her  by  making 
light  of  the  little  mishap.  But  Kitt}^  cried  so  tragically, 
that  he  was  at  his  wit's  end,  till  the  ludicrous  side  of  the 
aflfair  struck  her,  and  she  began  to  laugh  h3'stericall3', 
With  a  vague  idea  that  vigorous  treatment  was  best  for 
that  feminine  ailment.  Jack  was  about  to  emptj^  the 
contents  of  an  ice-pitcher  over  her,  when  she  arrested 
him,  b}^  exclaiming,  incoherent!}',  — 

''Oh,  don't! — it  was  so  funny!  —  how  can  j^ou 
laugh,  you  cruel  boy?  —  I'm  disgraced,  forever  —  take 
me  home  to  Pris,  oh,  take  me  home  to  Pris  !  '* 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  17 

"  I  will,  my  dear,  I  will;  but  first  let  me  right  j'ou 
up  a  bit ;  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  hazed,  upon  my 
life  3'ou  do ;  "  and  Jack  laughed  in  spite  of  himself  at 
the  wretched  little  object  before  him,  for  dust,  dancing, 
and  the  downfall  produced  a  ruinous  spectacle. 

That  broke  Kitty's  heart ;  and,  spreading  her  hands 
before  her  face,  she  was  about  to  cry  again,  when  the 
sad  sight  which  met  her  eyes  dispelled  the  gathering 
tears.  The  new  gloves  were  both  split  up  the  middle  aCnd 
very  dirt}^  with  clutching  at  the  steps  as  she  went  down. 

"  Never  mind,  you  can  wash  them,"  said  Jack,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  I  paid  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  them,  and  they  can't 
be  washed,"  groaned  Kitty. 

"Oh,  hang  the  gloves!  I  meant  your  hands,"  cried 
Jack,  trying  to  keep  sober. 

"  No  matter  for  my  hands,  I  mourn  my  gloves.  But 
I  won't  cry  any  more,  for  my  head  aches  now  so  I  can 
hardly  see."  And  Kitty  threw  off  her  bonnet,  as  if  even 
that  airy  trifle  hurt  her. 

Seeing  how  pale  she  looked.  Jack  tenderly  suggested 
a  rest  on  the  old  sofa,  and  a  wet  handkerchief  on  her  hot 
forehead,  while  he  got  the  good  landlady  to  send  her  up 
a  cup  of  tea.  As  Kitty  rose  to  compty  she  glanced  at 
her  dress,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  exclaimed,  tragi- 
cally, — 

"  The  facing,  the  fatal  facing  !  That  made  all  the  mis- 
chief, for  if  I  'd  sewed  it  last  night  it  would  n't  have 
ripped  to-day  ;  if  it  had  n't  ripped  Fletcher  would  n't  have 
got  his  foot  in  it,  I  should  n't  have  made  an  object  of  my- 
self, he  wouldn't  have  gone  off  in  a  rage,  and — who 
knows  what  might  have  happened  ?  " 

2 


18  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Bless  the  what  's-its-name  if  it  has  settled  him,"  cried 
Jack.  "  He  is  a  contemptible  fellow  not  to  stay  and 
help  you  out  of  the  scrape  he  got  jou  into.  Follow  his 
lead  and  don't  trouble  yourself  about  him." 

''  Well,  he  was  rather  absurd  to-da}^,  I  allow  ;  but  he 
has  got  handsome  eyes  and  hands,  and  he  does  dance 
like  an  angel,"  sighed  Kitt}^,  as  she  pinned  up  the 
treacherous  loop  which  had  brought  destruction  to  her 
little  castle  in  the  air. 

''  Handsome  ej-es,  white  hands,  and  angelic  feet  don't 
make  a  man.     Wait  till  you  can  do  better.  Kit." 

With  an  odd,  grave  look,  that  rather  startled  Kitt}', 
Jack  vanished,  to  retui'u  presently  with  a  comfortable 
cup  of  tea  and  a  motherly  old  lady  to  help  repair 
damages  and  soothe  her  by  the  foolish  little  purr- 
ings  and  pattings  so  grateful  to  female  nerves  after  a 
flurry. 

"  I  '11  come  back  and  take  you  out  to  see  the  dance 
round  the  tree  when  you  've  had  a  bit  of  a  rest,"  said  Jack, 
vibrating  between  door  and  sofa  as  if  it  was  n't  easy  to 
get  away= 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't,"  cried  Kitty,  with  a  shudder  at  the 
bare  idea  of  meeting  any  one.  "  I  can't  be  seen  again 
to-night ;  let  me  stay  here  till  my  train  goes." 

"  I  thought  it  had  gone,  alread}^,"  said  Jack,  with  an 
irrepressible  twinkle  of  the  eye  that  glanced  at  the  drag- 
gled dress  sweeping  the  floor. 

''How  can  you  joke  about  it!"  and  the  girl's  re- 
proachful eyes  filled  with  tears  of  shame.  "  I  know 
I  've  been  very  sill}',  Jack,  but  I  've  had  my  punishment, 
and  I  don't  need  any  more.  To  feel  that  3'ou  despise 
me  is  worse  than  all  the  rest." 


KITTY'S   CLASS  DAY.  19 

She  ended  with  a  little  sob,  and  turned  her  face  away 
to  hide  the  trembling  of  her  lips.  At  that,  Jack  flushed 
up,  his  eyes  shone,  and  he  stooped  suddenly  as  if  to 
make  some  impetuous  reply.  But,  remembering. the  old 
lady  (who,  by  the  by,  was  discreetly  looking  out  of 
window) ,  he  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  strolled 
out  of  the  room. 

"I've  lost  them  both  by  this  day's  folly,"  thought 
Kitty,  as  Mrs.  Brown  departed  with  the  teacup.  "  I 
don't  care  for  Fletcher,  for  I  dare  sa}^  he  did  n't  mean 
half  he  said,  and  I  was  only  flattered  because  he  is  rich 
and  handsome  and  the  girls  glorify  him.  But  I  shall 
miss  Jack,  for  I  've  known  and  loved  him  all  my  life. 
How  good  he 's  been  to  me  to-day  !  so  patient,  careful, 
and  kind,  though  he  must  have  been  ashamed  of  me. 
I  know  he  did  n't  like  my  dress  ;  but  he  never  said  a 
word  and  stood  by  me  through  everything.  Oh,  I  wish 
I  'd  minded  Pris  !  then  he  would  have  respected  me,  at 
least ;  I  wonder  if  he  ever  will,  again  ?  " 

Following  a  sudden  impulse,  Kitt}-  sprang  up,  locked 
the  door,  and  then  proceeded  to  destroy  all  her  little 
vanities  as  far  as  possible.  She  smoothed  out  her 
crimps  with  a  wet  and  ruthless  hand ;  fastened  up  her 
pretty  hair  in  the  simple  way  Jack  liked  ;  gave  her  once 
cherished  bonnet  a  spiteful  shake,  as  she  put  it  on,  and 
utterly  extinguished  it  with  a  big  blue  veil.  She  looped 
up  her  dress,  leaving  no  vestige  of  the  now  hateful  train, 
and  did  herself  up  uncompromisingly  in  the  Quakerish 
gray  shawl  Pris  had  insisted  on  her  taking  for  the  even^ 
ing.  Then  she  survej'ed  herself  with  pensive  satisfac- 
tion, saying,  in  the  tone  of  one  bent  on  resolutely  morti- 
fying the  flesh, — 


20  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Neat  but  not  gaud}' ;  I  'm  a  fright,  but  I  deserve  it, 
and  it 's  better  than  being  a  peacock." 

Kitt}'  had  time  to  feel  a  little  friendless  and  forlorn,  sit- 
ting there  alone  as  twihght  fell,  and  amused  herself  by 
wondering  if  Fletcher  would  come  to  inquire  about  her, 
or  show  any  further  interest  in  her  ;  j^et  when  the  sound 
of  a  manly  tramp  approached,  she  trembled  lest  it  should 
be  the  victim  of  the  fatal  facing.  The  door  opened,  and 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  she  saw  Jack  come  in,  bearing  a 
pair  of  new  gloves  in  one  hand  and  a  great  bouquet  of 
June  roses  in  the  other. 

' '  How  good  of  you  to  bring  me  these !  They  are 
more  refreshing  than  oceans  of  tea.  You  know  what  I 
like,  Jack ;  thank  3'ou  \eYy  much,"  cried  Kitty,  sniffing 
at  her  roses  with  grateful  rapture. 

"  And  you  know  what  I  like,"  returned  Jack,  with  an 
approving  glance  at  the  altered  figure  before  him. 

"I'll  never  do  so  any  more,"  murmured  Kitty,  won- 
dering why  she  felt  bashful  all  of  a  sudden,  when  it  was 
only  cousin  Jack. 

"Now  put  on  your  gloves,  dear,  and  come  out  and 
hear  the  music ;  your  train  does  n't  go  for  two  hours  yet, 
and  you  must  n't  mope  here  all  that  time,"  said  Jack,  of- 
fering his  second  gift. 

"  How  did  you  know  my  size?  "  asked  Kitt}',  putting 
on  the  gloves  in  a  hurry  ;  for  though  Jack  had  called  her 
"  dear"  for  years,  the  little  word  had  a  new  sound  to- 
night. 

"I  guessed, —  no,  I  didn't,  I  had  the  old  ones  with 
me;  they  are  no  good  now,  are  they?"  and  too  honest 
to  lie.  Jack  tried  to  speak  carelessl}^  though  he  turned 
red  in  the  dusk,  well  knowing  that  the  dirty  little  gloves 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  21 

were  folded  away  in  his  left  breast-pocket  at  that  identi- 
cal moment. 

''Oh,  dear,  no!  these  fit  nicely.  I 'm  ready,  if  j^ou 
don't  mind  going  with  such  a  fright,"  said  Kitty,  forget- 
ting her  dread  of  seeing  people  in  her  desire  to  get  away 
from  that  room,  because  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
was  n't  at  ease  with  Jack. 

"  I  think  I  like  the  little  gray  moth  better  than  the 
fine  butterfl}^,"  returned  Jack,  who,  in  spite  of  his  invi- 
tation, seemed  to  find  "  moping"  rather  pleasant. 

"You  are  a  rainy-day  friend,  and  he  isn't,"  said 
Kitt}^,  softl}^,  as  she  drew  him  awa}^ 

Jack's  only  answer  was  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  little 
white  glove  resting  so  confidingly  on  his  arm,  and,  keep- 
ing it  there,  they  roamed  away  into  the  summer  twi- 
light. 

Something  had  happened  to  the  evening  and  the  place, 
for  both  seemed  suddenly  endowed  with  uncommon 
beauty  and  interest.  The  dingy  old  houses  might  have 
been  fairy  palaces,  for  anything  they  saw  to  the  con- 
trary ;  the  dusty  walks,  the  trampled  grass,  were  regular 
Elysian  fields  to  them,  and  the  music  was  the  music  of 
the  spheres,  though  they  found  themselves  "Right  in 
the  middle  of  the  boom,  jing,  jing."  For  both  had 
made  a  little  discovery,  —  no,  not  a  little  one,  the  great- 
est and  sweetest  man  and  woman  can  make.  In  the 
sharp  twinge  of  jealousy  which  the  sight  of  Kitty's  flirta- 
tion with  Fletcher  gave  him,  and  the  delight  he  found  in 
her  after  conduct.  Jack  discovered  how  much  he  loved 
her.  In  the  shame,  gratitude,  and  half  sweet,  half  bit- 
ter emotion  that  filled  her  heart,  Kitty  felt  that  to  her 
Jack  would  never  be  "  only  cousin  Jack  "  any  more. 


22  PROVERB  STORIES. 

All  the  vanity,  coquetry,  selfishness,  and  ill-temper  of 
the  clay  seemed  magnified  to  heinous  sins,  for  now  her 
only  thought  was,  "  seeing  these  faults,  he  can't  care  for 
me.     Oh,  I  wish  I  was  a  better  girl !  " 

She  did  not  say  *'  for  his  sake,"  but  in  the  new 
humility,  the  ardent  wish  to  be  all  that  a  woman  should 
be,  little  Kitty  proved  how  true  her  love  was,  and  might 
have  said  with  Portia,  — 

"  For  myself  alone,  I  would  not  be 
Ambitious  in  my  wish  ;  but,  for  you, 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself  ; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair. 
Ten  thousand  times  more  rich." 

All  about  them  other  pairs  were  wandering  under  the 
patriarchal  elms,  enjoying  music,  starlight,  balmy  winds, 
and  all  the  luxuries  of  the  season.  If  the  band  had 
played 

"Oh,  there  's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dream  —  " 

it  is  my  private  opinion  that  it  would  have  suited  the 
audience  to  a  T.  Being  principally  composed  of  elderly 
gentlemen  with  large  families,  they  had  not  that  fine 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  so  charming  to  see,  and 
tooted  and  banged  away  with  waltzes  and  marches, 
quite  regardless  of  the  flocks  of  Ilomeos  and  Juliets 
philandering  all  about  them. 

Under  cover  of  a  popular  medle}^,  Kittj^  overheard 
Fletcher  quizzing  her  for  the  amusement  of  Miss  Pink- 
bonnet,  who  was  evidently  making  up  for  lost  time.  It 
was  feeble  wit,  but  it  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  Kitt3's 
vanity,  and  she  dropped  a  tear  in  her  blue  tissue  retreat,  • 


KITTY'S   CLASS  DAY.  23 

and  clung  to  Jack,  feeling  that  she  had  never  valued 
him  half  enough.  She  hoped  he  did  n't  hear  the  gossip 
going  on  at  the  other  side  of  the  tree  near  which  they 
stood ;  but  he  did,  for  his  hand  involuntaril}-  doubled 
itself  up  into  a  very  dangerous-looking  list,  and  he 
darted  such  fiery  glances  at  the  speaker,  that,  if  the 
thing  had  been  possible,  Fletcher's  ambrosial  curls  would 
have  been  scorched  oif  his  head. 

"  Never  mind,  and  don't  get  angry.  Jack.  They  are 
right  about  one  thing,  —  the  daisies  in  my  bonnet  were 
real,  and  I  couldn't  afford  any  others.  I  don't  care 
much,  only  Pris  worked  so  hard  to  get  me  ready  I  hate 
to  have  my  things  made  fun  of." 

"  He  is  n't  worth  a  thrashing,  so  we  '11  let  it  pass  this 
time,"  said  Jack,  irefully,  yet  privately  resolving  to 
have  it  out  with  Fletcher  by  and  b3'. 

"  Wh}",  Kitty,  I  thought  the  real  daisies  the  prettiest 
things  about  3^our  dress.  Don't  throw  them  awa}".  I  '11 
wear  them  just  to  show  that  noodle  that  I  prefer  nature 
to  art ;  "  and  Jack  gallantly  stuck  the  faded  pos}'  in  his 
button-hole,  while  Kitt}^  treasured  up  the  hint  so  kindly 
given  for  future  use. 

If  a  clock  with  great  want  of  tact  had  n't  insisted  on 
telling  them  that  it  was  getting  late,  Kitty  never  would 
have  got  home,  for  both  the  young  people  felt  inclined 
to  loiter  about  arm  in  arm  through  the  sweet  summer 
night  forever.  Jack  had  meant  to  say  something  before 
she  went,  and  was  immensely  surprised  to  find  the 
chance  lost  for  the  present.  He  wanted  to  go  home 
with  her  and  free  his  mind  ;  but  a  neighborly  old  gentle- 
man having  been  engaged  as  escort,  there  would  have 
been  ver}^  little  satisfaction  in  a  travelling  trio ;  so  ho 


24  PROVERB  STORIES. 

gave  it  up.  He  was  ver}^  silent  as  they  walked  to  the 
station  with  Dr.  Docld  trudging  behind  them.  Kitty 
thought  he  was  tired,  perhaps  glad  to  be  rid  of  her,  and 
meekly  accepted  her  fate.  But  as  the  train  approached, 
she  gave  his  hand  an  impulsive  squeeze,  and  said  very 
gratefully,  — 

"  Jack,  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  your  kindness 
to  your  silly  little  cousin  ;  but  I  never  shall  forget  it, 
and  if  I  ever  can  return  it  in  anj'  wa}^,  I  will  with  all  my 
heart." 

Jack  looked  down  at  the  j^oung  face  almost  pathetic 
now  with  weariness,  humilit}^,  and  pain,  yet  very  sweet, 
with  that  new  shj-ness  in  the  loving  eyes,  and,  stooping 
suddenly,  he  kissed  it,  whispering  in  a  tone  that  made 
the  girl's  heart  flutter,  — 

"  I  '11  tell  you  how  3^ou  ma}'  return  it  '  with  all  3'our 
heart,'  by  and  by.     Good-night,  my  Kitty." 

"  Have  3'ou  had  a  good  time,  dear?  "  asked  Pris,  as 
her  sister  appeared  an  hour  later. 

''  Don't  I  look  as  if  I  had?"  and,  throwing  off  her 
wraps,  Kitty  revolved  slowly  before  her  that  she  might 
behold  every  portion  of  the  wreck.  ''  My  gown  is  all 
dust,  crumple,  and  rags,  my  bonnet  perfectly  limp  and 
flat,  and  my  gloves  are  ruined  ;  I  've  broken  Lizzie's 
parasol,  made  a  spectacle  of  myself,  and  wasted  mone}^, 
time,  and  temper  ;  yet  my  Class  Day  is  n't  a  failure,  for 
Jack  is  the  dearest  boy  in  the  world,  and  I  'm  ver^-,  very 
happy !  " 

Pris  looked  at  her  a  minute,  then  opened  her  arms 
without  a  word,  and  Kitty  forgot  all  her  little  troubles 
in  one  great  joy. 

When  Miss  Smith  and  Miss  Jones  called  a  few  days 


KITTTS   CLASS  DAY.  25 

after  to  tell  her  that  Mr.  Fletcher  was  going  abroad,  the 
amiable  creatures  were  entireh'  routed  b}-  finding  Jack 
there  in  a  most  unmistakable  situation.  He  blandly 
wished  Horace  "  bon  voj-age,"  and  regretted  that  he 
would  n't  be  there  to  the  wedding  in  October.  Kitty 
devoted  herself  to  blushing  beautifully,  and  darning 
many  rents  in  a  short  daisy  muslin  skirt,  "  which  I 
intend  to  wear  a  great  deal,  because  Jack  likes  it,  and 
so  do  I,"  she  said,  with  a  demure  look  at  her  lover,  who 
laughed  as  if  that  was  the  best  joke  of  the  season. 


AUNT  KIPP. 

Children  and  fools  speak  the  truth.* 


I. 


W "HAT'S  that  sigh  for,  Polly  clear?" 
"I'm  tired,  mother,   tired  of  working  and 
waiting.     If  I'm  ever  going  to  have  any  fun,  I  want  it 
now  while  I  can  enjo}^  it." 

' '  You  should  n't  wait  another  hour  if  I  could  have  my 
way  ;  but  you  know  how  helpless  I  am  ;  "  and  poor  Mrs. 
Snow  sighed  dolefully,  as  she  glanced  about  the  dingy 
room  and  prett}^  Mar}^  turning  her  faded  gown  for  the 
second  time. 

"  If  Aunt  Kipp  would  give  us  the  mone}-  she  is  al- 
ways talking  about,  instead  of  waiting  till  she  dies,  we 
should  be  so  comfortable.  She  is  a  dreadful  bore,  for 
she  lives  in  such  terror  of  cb-opping  dead  with  her 
heart-complaint  that  she  doesn't  take  an}^  pleasure  in 
life  herself  or  let  anyone  else  ;  so  the  sooner  she  goes 
the  better  for  all  of  us,"  said  Polly,  in  a  desperate  tone  ; 
for  things  looked  very  black  to  her  just  then. 

"  M}^  dear,  don't  say  that,"  began  her  mother,  mildly 
shocked ;  but  a  bluff  little  voice  broke  in  with  the  forci- 
ble remark,  — 

"  She 's  everlastingl}'  telling  me  never  to  put  off  till  to- 
morrow what  can  be  done  to-day  ;  next  time  she  comes 


AUNT  KIPP.  27 

I  '11  remind  her  of  that,  and  ask  her,  if  she  is  going  to 
die,  why  she  does  n't  do  it?" 

"  Toady  !  you're  a  wicked,  disrespectful  boy  ;  never  let 
me  hear  3'ou  sa}^  such  a  thing  again  about  your  dear 
Aunt  Kipp." 

"  She  isn't  dear  !  You  know  we  all  hate  her,  and  3'ou 
are  more  afraid  of  her  than  3'ou  are  of  spiders,  —  so 
now." 

The  3'oung  personage  whose  proper  name  had  been 
corrupted  into  Toady,  was  a  small  boy  of  ten  or  eleven, 
apple-cheeked,  round-eyed,  and  curl3-headed ;  arrayed 
in  well-worn,  gray  knickerbockers,  profuseh'  adorned 
wdth  paint,  glue,  and  shreds  of  cotton.  Perched  on  a 
high  stool,  at  an  isolated  table  in  a  state  of  chaos,  he 
was  absorbed  in  making  a  boat,  entirel}^  oblivious  of  the 
racking  tooth-ache  which  had  been  his  excuse  for  stay- 
ing from  school.  As  cool,  sauc}^,  hard-handed,  and 
soft-hearted  a  little  specimen  of  young  America  was 
Toady  as  you  would  care  to  see ;  a  tj'rant  at  home,  a 
rebel  at  school,  a  sworn  foe  to  law,  order,  and  Aunt 
Kipp.  This  young  person  was  regarded  as  a  reprobate 
by  all  but  his  mother,  sister,  and  sister's  sweetheart, 
Van  Bahr  Lamb.  Having  been,  through  much  anguish 
of  flesh  and  spirit,  taught  that  lying  was  a  deadly  sin. 
Toady  rushed  to  the  other  extreme,  and  bolted  out  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  at  all 
times  and  places,  with  a  startling  abruptness  that 
brought  wrath  and  dismay  upon  his  friends  and  relatives. 

"  It 's  wicked  to  fib  ;  you  've  whipped  that  into  me  and 
you  can't  rub  it  out,"  he  was  wont  to  sa}^  with  vivid 
recollection  of  the  past  tingling  in  the  chubby  portions  of 
his  frame. 


28  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"Mind  your  chips,  Toad}',  and  take  care  what  3'ou 
say  to  Aunt  Kipp,  or  you  '11  be  as  poor  as  a  little  rat  all 
the  da3"S  of  3^our  life,"  said  Poll}^,  warningl3\ 

"  I  don't  want  her  old  mone}',  and  I  '11  tell  her  so  if 
she  bothers  me  about  it.  I  shall  go  into  business  with 
Van  and  take  care  of  the  whole  lot ;  so  don't  you  preach, 
Poll}',"  returned  Toady,  with  as  much  dignitj'  as  was 
compatible  with  a  great  dab  of  glue  on  the  end  of  his 
snub  nose. 

"  Mother,  did  aunt  say  anything  about  coming  this 
week?"  asked  Polly,  after  a  pause  of  intense  thought 
over  a  breadth  with  three  darns,  two  spots,  and  a  burn. 

"Yes  ;  she  wrote  that  she  was  too  feeble  to  come  at 
present,  as  she  had  such  dreadful  palpitations  she  did  n't 
dare  stir  from  her  room.  So  we  are  quite  safe  for  the 
next  week  at  least,  and  —  bless  my  soul,  there  she  is 
now !  " 

Mrs.  Snow  clasped  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
may, and  sat  as  if  transfixed  hy  the  spectacle  of  a  pon- 
derous lady,  in  an  awe-inspiring  bonnet,  who  came 
walking  slowly  down  the  street.  P0II3'  gave  a  groan, 
and  pulled  a  bright  ribbon  from  her  hair.  Toady  mut- 
tered, "  Oh,  bother!"  and  vainly  attempted  to  polish 
up  his  countenance  with  a  fragmentarj'  pocket-handker- 
chief. 

"  Nothing  but  salt  fish  for  dinner,"  wailed  Mrs.  Snow, 
as  the  shadow  of  the  coming  event  fell  upon  her. 

''  Van  will  make  a  fool  of  himself,  and  ruin  ever}'- 
thing,"  sighed  Poll^^  glancing  at  the  ring  on  her  finger. 

' '  I  know  she  '11  kiss  me  ;  she  never  will  let  a  fellow 
alone,"  growled  Toad}',  scowling  darkl}'. 

The  garden  gate  clashed,  dust  fiew  from  the  door-mat, 


AUNT  KIPP.  29 

a  heavy  step  echoed  in  the  hall,  an  imperious  voice 
called  "Sophy!"  and  Aunt  Kipp  entered  with  a 
flourish  of  trumpets,  for  Toady  blew  a  blast  through 
his  fingers  which  made  the  bows  totter  on  her  bon- 
net. 

"  My  dear  aunt,  I  'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Snow,  advancing  with  a  smile  of  welcome ;  for 
though  as  weak  as  water  gruel,  she  was  as  kind-hearted 
a  little  woman  as  ever  lived. 

"  What  a  fib  that  was  !  "  said  Toady,  sotto  voce. 

"  We  were  just  saying  we  were  afraid  3^ou  wouldn't" 
—  began  Mary,  when  a  warning,  "Mind  now,  Poll}^," 
caused  her  to  stop  short  and  busy  herself  with  the  new- 
comer's bag  and  umbrella. 

"I  changed  my  mind.  Theodore,  come  and  kiss 
me,"  answered  Aunt  Kipp,  briefly. 

"Yes'm,"  was  the  plaintive  reply,  and,  closing  his 
eyes,  Toad}^  awaited  his  fate  with  fortitude. 

But  the  dreaded  salute  did  not  come,  for  Aunt  Kipp 
exclaimed  in  alarm,  — 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  has  the  boy  got  the  plague?  " 

"No'm,  it's  paint,  and  dirt,  and  glue,  and  it  wow'# 
come  oflf,"  said  Toady,  stroking  his  variegated  counte- 
nance with  grateful  admiration  for  the  stains  that  saved 
him. 

' '  Go  and  wash  this  moment,  sir.  Thank  Heaven,  / 've 
got  no  boys,"  cried  Aunt  Kipp,  as  if  boys  were  some 
virulent  disease  which  she  had  narrowly  escaped. 

With  a  hasty  peck  at  the  lips  of  her  two  elder  rela- 
tives, the  old  lady  seated  herself,  and  slowly  removed 
the  awful  bonnet,  which  in  shape  and  hue  much  resem- 
bled a  hearse  hung  with  black  crape. 


30  rnOVERB   STORIES. 

"  I  'm  glad  3'ou  are  better,"  said  Mary,  reverently  re- 
ceiving the  funereal  head-gear. 

"I'm  not  better,"  cut  in  Aunt  Kipp.  "I'm  worse, 
much  worse ;  my  da^'s  are  numbered ;  I  stand  on  the 
brink  of  the  tomb,  and  may  drop  at  any  moment." 

Toady's  face  was  a  study,  as  he  glanced  up  at  the  old 
lady's  florid  countenance,  down  at  the  floor,  as  if  in 
search  of  the  above-mentioned  "  brink,"  and  looked  un- 
affectedly anxious  to  see  her  drop.  "Why  don't  you, 
then  ? "  was  on  his  lips ;  but  a  frown  from  Polly  re- 
strained him,  and  he  sat  himself  down  on  the  rug  to 
contemplate  the  corpulent  victim. 

"  Have  a  cup  of  tea,  aunt?"  said  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  I  will." 

"  Lie  down  and  rest  a  little,"  suggested  Polly. 

"I  won't." 

"  Can  we  do  anything  for  you?"  said  both. 

"  Take  my  things  away,  and  have  dinner  earty." 

Both  departed  to  perform  these  behests,  and,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair.  Aunt  Kipp  reposed. 

"  I  say,  what 's  a  bore?  "  asked  Toad}'  from  the  rug, 
where  he  sat  rocking  meditativelj'  to  and  fro,  holding  on 
by  his  shoe-strings. 

"  It 's  a  kind  of  a  pig,  very  fierce,  and  folks  are  afraid 
of  'em,"  said  Aunt  Kipp,  whose  knowledge  of  Natural 
History  was  limited. 

"  Good  for  Polly!  so  you  are!"  sung  out  the  bo}', 
with  the  hearty  child's  laugh  so  i)leasant  to  most  ears. 

" AYliat  do  you  mean,  sir?"  demanded  the  old  lad}', 
irefuUy  poking  at  him  with  her  umbrella. 

"  Wh}',  Polly  said  you  were  a  bore,"  explained  Toad}^ 
with  artless  frankness.     "  You  are  fat,  you  know,  and 


AUNT  KIPP.  31 

fierce  sometimes,  and  folks  arc  afraid  of  3'oa.     Good, 
was  n't  it?" 

"  Veiy !  Mary  is  a  nice,  grateful,  respectful,  loving 
niece,  and  I  shan't  forget  her,  she  may  depend  on  that," 
and  Annt  Kipp  laughed  grimly. 

"May  she?  well,  that's  jolly  now.  She  was  afraid 
you  would  n't  give  her  the  money  ;  so  I  '11  tell  her  it 's  all 
right ;  "  and  innocent  Toad}'  nodded  approvinglj-. 

"  Oh,  she  expects  some  of  my  money,  does  she?" 

"Course  she  does;  ain't  3'ou  always  saying  j'ou '11 
remember  us  in  your  will,  because  father  was  3'our 
favorite  nephew,  and  all  that?  I'll  tell  3^ou  a  secret,  if 
you  won't  let  PoU}^  know  I  spoke  first.  You  '11  find  it 
out  to-night,  for  3'ou  'd  see  Van  and  she  were  sweethearts 
in  a  minute." 

"  Sweethearts?  "  cried  Aunt  Kipp,  turning  red  in  the 
face. 

"  Yes  'm.  Van  settled  it  last  week,  and  Polly  's  been 
so  happy  ever  since.  Mother  likes  it,  and  /  like  it,  for 
'I  'm  fond  of  Van,  though  I  do  call  him  Baa-baa,  because 
he  looks  like  a  sheep.  We  all  like  it,  and  we  'd  all 
sa}^  so,  if  we  were  not  afraid  of  3'ou.  Mother  and 
Polly,  I  mean ;  of  course  we  men  don't  mind,  but  we 
don't  want  a  fuss.  You  won't  make  one,  will  you, 
now?  " 

Anything  more  expressive  of  brotherlj^  good-will, 
persuasive  frankness,  and  a  placid  consciousness  of 
having  "  fixed  it,"  than  Toad3''s  diYiy  little  face,  it 
would  be  hard  to  find.  Aunt  Kipp  e3red  him  so  fiercely 
that  even  before  she  spoke  a  dim  suspicion  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  began  to  dawn  on  his  too-confiding 
soul 


62  PROVERB   STORIES. 

" /don't  like  it,  and  I'll  put  a  stop  to  it.  I  won't 
have  an}^  ridiculous  baa-baas  in  ni}^  family.  If  Mary 
counts  on  ray  raone}^  to  begin  house-keeping  with,  she  '11 
find  herself  mistaken  ;  for  not  one  penn}^  shall  she  have, 
married  or  single,  and  jou  may  tell  her  so." 

Toad}'  was  so  taken  aback  by  this  explosion  that  he 
let  go  his  shoe-strings,  fell  over  with  a  crash,  and  lay 
flat,  with  shovel  and  tongs  spread  upon  him  like  a  pall. 
In  rushed  Mrs.  Snow  and  Polly,  to  find  the  boy's  spirits 
quite  quenched,  for  once,  and  Aunt  Kipp  in  a  towering 
passion.  It  all  came  out  in  one  overwhelming  flood  of 
words,  and  Toady  fled  from  the  storm  to  wander  round 
the  house,  a  prey  to  the  deepest  remorse.  The  meek- 
ness of  that  boy  at  dinner-time  was  so  angelic  that  Mrs. 
Snow  would  have  feared  speedy  translation  for  him,  if 
she  had  not  been  very  angry.  Pollj^'s  red  ej'es,  and 
Aunt  Kipp's  griflfinesque  expression  of  countenance, 
weighed  upon  his  soul  so  heavil}^  that  even  rolj'-poly 
pudding  failed  to  assuage  his  trouble,  and,  taking  his 
mother  into  the  china-closet,  he  anxiousl}'  inquired  "  if» 
it  was  all  up  with  Polly  ?  " 

"I'm  afraid  so,  for  aunt  vows  she  will  make  a  new 
will  to-morrow,  and  leave  gygyj  penny  to  the  Charitable 
Rag-bag  Society,"  sighed  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  do  it,  I  truly  didn't !  I  thought 
I  'd  just  '  give  her  a  hint,'  as  you  sa}'.  She  looked  all 
right,  and  laughed  when  I  told  her  about  being  a  bore, 
and  I  thought  she  liked  it.  If  she  was  a  man,  1  'd  thrash 
her  for  making  P0II3'  cry  ;  "  and  Toady  shook  his  fist  at 
Aunt  Kipp's  umbrella,  which  was  an  immense  relief  to 
his  perturbed  spirit. 

''  Bless  the  boy  !  I  do  believe  he  would  !  "  cried  Mrs. 


AUNT  KIPP.  33 

Snow,  watching  the  little  turke3'-cock  with  maternal 
pride.  ''  You  can't  do  that :  so  just  be  careful  and  not 
make  any  more  mischief,  dear." 

''  I  '11  try,  mother  ;  but  I  'm  always  getting  into  scrapes 
with  Aunt  Kipp.  She  's  worse  than  measles,  an}-  da}',  — 
such  an  old  aggrawater  !  Van 's  coming  this  afternoon, 
won't  he  make  her  pleasant  again?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  He  will  probablj^  make  things  ten 
times  worse,  he 's  so  bashful  and  queer.  I  'm  afraid  our 
last  chance  is  gone,  deary,  and  we  must  rub  along  as 
we  have  done." 

One  sniff  of  emotion  burst  from  Toady,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment  he  laid  his  head  in  the  knife-tray,  overcome  with 
disappointment  and  regret.  But  scorning  to  yield  to 
unmanly  tears,  he  was  soon  himself  again.  Thrusting 
his  beloved  jack-knife,  with  three  blades  and  a  file,  into 
Polly's  hand,  he  whispered,  brokenly,  — 

"  Keep  it  forever  'n'  ever  ;  I  'm  awful  sorr}' !  "  Then, 
feeling  that  the  magnitude  of  this  sacrifice  atoned  for 
everything,  he  went  to  watch  for  Van, — the  forlorn 
hope  to  which  he  now  clung. 


II. 


a 


Sophy,  I  'm  surprised  at  3^our  want  of  judgment. 
Do  you  really  mean  to  let  your  girl  marry  this  Lamb  ? 
Why,  the  man's  a  fool !  "  began  Aunt  Kipp,  after  din- 
ner, by  way  of  opening  a  pleasant  conversation  with 
her  relatives, 

3 


34  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  Dear  me,  aunt !  how  can  j'on  know  that,  when  you 
never  saw  him?"  mildly  returned  Mrs.  Snow. 

"  I  'ye  heard  of  him,  and  that 's  enough  for  me.  I  've 
a  deal  of  penetration  in  judging  character,  and  I  tell 
3'ou  Van  Bahr  Lamb  is  a  fool." 

The  amiable  old  lady  thought  this  wonld  rouse  Polly, 
against  whom  her  anger  still  burned  hotly.  But  Pollj^ 
also  possessed  penetration ;  and,  well  knowing  that 
jcontradiction  would  delight  Aunt  Kipp,  she  com- 
pletely took  the  wind  out  of  her  sails,  bj'  coolly  re- 
marking, — 

"  I  like  fools." 

"  Bless  my  heart !  what  does  the  girl  mean?  "  ejacu- 
lated Aunt  Kipp. 

"  Just  what  I  say.  If  Van  is  a  fool,  T  prefer  simple- 
tons to  wiseacres.  I  know  he  is  shy  and  awkward,  and 
does  absurd  things  now  and  then.  But  I  also  know 
that  he  has  the  kindest  heart  that  ever  was  ;  is  unselfish, 
faithful  and  loving ;  that  he  took  good  care  of  his  old 
parents  till  they  died,  and  never  thought  of  himself 
while  they  needed  him.  He  loves  me  dearl}^ ;  will  wait 
for  me  a  dozen  3^ears,  if  I  say  so,  and  work  all  his  da3's 
to  make  me  happy.  He  's  a  help  and  comfort  to  mother, 
a  good  friend  to  Toady,  and  I  love  and  respect  and  am 
proud  of  him,  though  you  do  sa}'  he  is  a  fool,"  cried 
Polly  heartil3\ 

"  And  you  insist  on  marr3'ing  him?  "  demanded  Aunt 
Kipp. 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Then  I  wish  a  carriage  innnediatel3',  was  the  some- 
what irrelevant  repl}'. 

''  Why,  aunt,  you  don't  mean  to  go  so  soon?"  cried 


AUNT  KIPP.  35 

JNIrs,  Snow,  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  the  rebellious 
roily. 

"Far  from  it.  I  wish  to  sec  Judge  Banks  about 
altering  ni}'  will,"  was  the  awful  answer. 

Polk's  face  fell ;  her  mother  gave  a  despairing  sigh  ; 
Toad3',  who  had  hovered  about  the  door,  uttered  a  sup- 
pressed whistle  of  dismay  ;  and  Mrs.  Kipp  looked  about 
her  with  vengeful  satisfaction. 

"Get  the  big  carryall  and  old  Bob,  so  the  bo}'  can 
drive,  and  all  of  you  come  ;  the  trip  will  do  you  good." 

It  was  like  Aunt  Kipp  to  invite  her  poor  relations  to 
go  and  "  nip  their  own  noses  off,"  as  she  elegantly  ex- 
pressed it.  It  was  a  part}'  of  pleasure  that  just  suited 
her,  for  all  the  fun  was  on  her  side.  She  grew  affable 
at  once,  w^as  quite  pressing  in  her  invitation,  regretted 
that  Sophy  was  too  busy  to  go,  praised  Polly's  hat ;  and 
professed  herself  quite  satisfied  with  "that  dear  boy" 
for  a  driver.  The  "dear  boj'"  distorted  his  young 
countenance  frightfull}^  behind  her  back,  but  found  a 
balm  for  every  wound  in  the  delight  of  being  comman- 
der of  the  expedition. 

The  big  carryall  appeared,  and,  with  much  creaking 
and  swaying  Mrs.  Kipp  was  got  into  the  back  seat, 
where  the  big  bonnet  gloomed  like  a  thunder-cloud. 
Polly,  in  a  high  state  of  indignation,  which  only  made 
her  look  ten  times  prettier,  sat  in  front  with  Toad}',  who 
was  a  sight  to  see  as  he  drove  off  .with  his  short  legs 
planted  against  the  boot,  his  elbows  squared,  and  the 
big  whip  scientifically  cracking  now  and  then.  Away 
they  went,  leaving  poor  Mrs.  Snow  to  bewail  herself 
dismally  after  she  had  smiled  and  nodded  them  out  of 
si2;ht. 


3G  PROVE RB   STORIES. 

"Don't  go  over  an}'  bridges  or  railroad  crossings  or 
hy  any  saw-mills,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  if  the  town 
could  be  suddenly  remodelled  to  suit  her  taste. 

"  Yes  'm,"  returned  Toad}^  with  a  crack  which  would 
have  done  honor  to  a  French  postilion. 

It  was  a  fine  da}',  and  the  Aoung  people  would  have 
enjoj'ed  the  ride  in  spite  of  the  breakers  ahead,  if  Aunt 
Kipp  had  n't  entertained  the  girl  with  a  glowing  account 
of  the  splendors  of  her  own  wedding,  and  aggravated 
the  boy  by  frequent  pokes  and  directions  in  the  art  of 
driving,  of  which  she  was  of  course,  profoundh'  igno- 
rant. Polly  could  n't  restrain  a  tear  or  two,  in  thinking 
of  her  own  poor  little  prospects,  and  Toad}"  was  goaded 
to  desperation. 

"I'll  give  her  a  regular  shaking  up ;  it'll  make  her 
hold  her  tongue  and  do  her  good,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  a  stony  hill  sloped  temptingly  before  him. 

A  sly  chuck,  and  some  mysterious  manauvre  with  the 
reins,  and  Bob  stai'ted  off  at  a  brisk  trot,  as  if  he  ob- 
jected to  the  okl  lady  as  much  as  her  mischievous  little 
nephew. 

"  Hold  him  in  !  Keep  a  taut  rein  !  Loixl  'a  mercy, 
he  's  running  away  ! "  shrieked  Aunt  Kii)p.  or  tried  to 
shriek,  for  the  bouncing  and  bumping  jerked  the  words 
out  of  her  mouth  with  ludicrous  incolierency. 

"  I  am  hokling  him,  but  he  icill  go,"  said  Toady, 
with  a  wicked  triumph  in  his  eye  as  he  glanced  back  at 
Polly. 

The  next  minute  the  words  were  quite  true ;  for,  as 
he  spoke,  two  or  three  distracted  hens  flew  squalling 
over  the  wall  and  scattered  about,  under,  over,  and  be- 
fore the  horse,  as  only  distracted  hens  could  do.     It 


AUNT  KIPP.  37 

was  too  much  for  Bob's  nerves ;  and,  taking  matters 
into  bis  own  bands,  or  feet,  rather,  he  broke  into  a  run, 
and  rattled  the  old  lad}'  over  the  stones  with  a  velocit\' 
which  left  her  speecbless. 

Polly  laughed,  and  Toady  chuckled,  as  they  caught 
glimpses  of  the  awful  bonnet  vibrating  wildly  in  the 
background,  and  felt  the  frantic  clutchings  of  the  old 
lad3''s  hands.  But  both  grew  sober  as  a  shrill  car- 
whistle  sounded  not  far  off;  and  Bob,  as  if  possessed 
by  an  evil  spirit,  turned  suddenly  into  the  road  that  led 
to  the  railroad  crossing. 

"  That  will  do.  Toady  ;  now  pull  up,  for  we  can't  get 
over  in  time,"  said  P0II3',  glancing  anxiously- toward  the 
rapidl}'  approaching  puffs  of  white  smoke. 

' '  I  can't,  Polly,  —  I  really  can't,"  cried  the  bo}^  tug- 
ging with  all  his  might,  and  beginning  to  look  scared. 

P0II3'  lent  her  aid ;  but  Bob  scared}'  seemed  to  feel 
it,  for  he  had  been  a  racer  once,  and  when  his  blood 
was  up  he  was  hard  to  handle.  His  own  good  sense 
might  have  checked  him,  if  Aunt  Kipp  had  n't  unfortu- 
nately recovered  her  voice  at  this  crisis,  and  uttered  a 
succession  of  the  shrillest  screams  that  ever  saluted 
mortal  ears.  With  a  snort  and  a  bound  Bob  dashed 
straight  on  toward  the  crossing,  as  the  train  appeared 
round  the  bend. 

"  Let  me  out !  Let  me  out !  Jump  !  Jump  !  "  shrieked 
Aunt  Kipp,  thrusting  her  head  out  of  the  window,  while 
she  fumbled  madh'  for  the  door-handle. 

"  O  Toady,  save  us  !  save  us  !  "  gasped  Polly,  losing 
her  presence  of  mind,  and  dropping  the  reins  to  cling  to 
her  brother,  with  a  woman's  instinctive  faith  in  the 
stronger  sex. 


38  PROVERB  STORIES. 

But  Toad}'  held  on  manfull}',  though  his  arms  wore 
nearly  pulled  off,  for  ''Never  say  die,"  was  his  motto, and 
the  plucky  little  lad  would  n't  show  fear  before  the  women. 

"Don't  howl;  we'll  do  it!  Hi,  Bob!"  and  with  a 
savage  slash  of  the  whip,  an  exciting  cr}',  a  terrible 
reeling  and  rattling,  they  did  do  it ;  for  Bob  cleared  the 
track  at  a  breakneck  pace,  just  in  time  for  the  train  to 
sweep  swiftly  by  behind  them. 

Aunt  Kipp  dropped  in  a  heap,  Polly  looked  up  at  her 
brother,  with  a  look  which  he  never  forgot ;  and  Toad}^ 
tried  to  say,  stoutly,  "It's  all  right!"  with  lips  that 
were  white  and  dr}-  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  We  shall  smash  up  at  the  bridge,"  he  muttered,  as 
the}^  tore  through  the  town,  where  ever}^  one  obliginglj^ 
shouted,  waved  their  hats,  and  danced  about  on  the 
sidewalks,  doing  nothing  but  add  to  Bob's  fright  and 
the  party's  danger.  But  Toady  was  wrong,  —  they  did 
not  smash  up  at  the  bridge  ;  for,  before  they  reached 
the  perilous  spot,  one  man  had  the  sense  to  fl}^  straight 
at  the  horse's  head  and  hold  on  till  the  momentaiy 
check  enabled  others  to  lend  a  hand. 

The  instant  they  were  safe,  Poll}',  like  a  regular 
heroine,  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  dishevelled 
preserver,  who  of  course  was  Van,  and  would  have  re- 
freshed herself  with  hysterics  if  the  sight  of  Toady 
had  n't  steadied  her.  The  boy  sat  as  stiff  and  rigid  as 
a  wooden  figure  till  they  took  the  reins  from  him ;  then 
all  the  strength  seemed  to  go  out  of  him,  and  he  leaned 
against  his  sister,  as  white  and  trembling  as  she,  whis- 
pering with  an  irrepressible  sob,  — 

"  O  Polly,  was  n't  it  horrid?  Tell  mother  I  stood  by 
you  like  a  man.     Do  tell  her  tjiat !  " 


AUNT  KIPP.  39 

If  an}'  one  had  bad  time  or  heart  to  laugh,  they  cer- 
tainly would  have  done  it  when,  after  much  groping, 
heaving,  and  hoisting,  Mi's.  Kipp  was  extricated  and 
restored  to  consciousness ;  for  a  more  ludicrously  de- 
plorable spectacle  was  seldom  seen.  Quite  unhurt, 
though  much  shaken,  the  old  lady  insisted  on  believing 
herself  to  be  dying,  and  kept  the  town  in  a  ferment  till 
three  doctors  had  pronounced  her  perfectl}'  well  able  to 
go  home.  Then  the  perversity  of  her  nature  induced 
her  to  comply,  that  she  might  have  the  satisfaction  of 
dj'ing  on  the  wa}",  and  proving  herself  in  the  riglit. 

Unfortunatel}'  she  did  not  expire,  but,  having  safely 
arrived,  went  to  bed  in  high  dudgeon,  and  led  Polly  and 
her  mother  a  sad  life  of  it  for  two  wear}'  da3'S.  Having 
heard  of  Toady's  gallant  behavior,  she  solemnh'  ordered 
him  up  to  receive  her  blessing.  But  the  sight  of  Aunt 
Kipp's  rubicund  visage,  surrounded  by  the  stiff  frills  of 
an  immense  nightcap,  caused  the  irreverent  bo}^  to 
explode  with  laughter  in  his  Iiandkerchief,  and  to  be 
hustled  away  b}'  his  mother  before  Aunt  Kipp  discovered 
the  true  cause  of  his  convulsed  appearance. 

"  Ah  !  poor  dear,  his  feelings  are  too  much  for  him. 
He  sees  my  doom  in  my  face,  and  is  overcome  by  what 
you  refuse  to  believe.  I  shan't  forget  that  bo3''s  devo- 
tion. Now  leave  me  to  the  meditations  befitting  these 
solemn  hours." 

Mrs.  Snow  retired,  and  Aunt  Kipp  tried  to  sleep  ;  but 
the  murmur  of  voices,  and  the  sound  of  stifled  laughter 
in  the  next  room  disturbed  her  repose. 

''  They  are  rejoicing  over  my  approaching  end, 
knowing  that  I  have  n't  changed  my  will.  Mercenary 
creatures,  don't  exult  too  soon  !  there  's  time  yet,"  she 


40  PROVERB  STORIES. 

imittered  ;  and  presently,  unable  to  control  her  euriosit}', 
she  crept  out  of  bed  to  listen  and  peep  through  the  kej^- 
hole. 

Van  Bahr  Lamb  did  look  rather  like  a  sheep.  He 
had  a  blond  curl}-  head,  a  long  face,  pale,  mild  e\'es,  a 
plaintive  voice,  and  a  general  expression  of  innocent 
timidity  strongly  suggestive  of  animated  mutton.  But 
Baa-baa  was  a  "  trump,"  as  Toad}'  emphaticalh'  de- 
clared, and  though  every  one  laughed  at  him,  ever}'  one 
liked  him,  and  that  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  many 
saints  and  sages.  He  adored  Polly,  was  dutifully  kind 
to  her  mother,  and  had  stood  by  T.  Snow,  Jr.,  in  many 
an  hour  of  tribulation  with  fraternal  fidelity.  Though 
he  had  long  blushed,  sighed,  and  cast  sheep's  eyes  at 
the  idol  of  his  affections,  only  till  lately  had  he  dared  to 
bleat  forth  his  passion.  Polly  loved  him  because  she 
could  n't  help  it ;  but  she  was  proud,  and  would  n't 
marry  till  Aunt  Kipp's  money  was  hers,  or  at  least  a 
sure  prospect  of  it ;  and  now  even  the  prospect  of  a 
prospect  was  destroyed  by  that  irrepressible  Toady. 
They  were  talking  of  this  as  the  old  lady  suspected,  and 
of  course  the  following  conversation  afforded  her  intense 
satisfaction. 

•'It's  a  shame  to  torment  us  as  she  does,  knowing 
how  poor  we  are  and  how  happy  a  little  of  her  money 
would  make  us.  I  'm  tired  of  being  a  slave  to  a  cruel 
old  woman  just  because  she  's  rich.  If  it  was  not  for 
mother,  I  declare  I  'd  wash  my  hands  of  her  entirely, 
and  do  the  best  I  could  for  myself." 

"Hooray  for  Polly  !  I  always  said  let  her  money  go 
and  be  jolly  without  it,"  cried  Toady,  who,  in  his  char- 
acter of  wounded  hero,  reposed  with  a  lordly  air  on  the 


AUNT  KIPP.  41 

sofa,  ciijo3ing  the  fragrance  of  the  opedeldoc  with  which 
liis  strained  wrists  were  bandaged. 

"It's  on  3'onr  account,  children,  that  I  bear  with 
annt's  temper  as  I  do.  I  don't  want  anj'thing  for  my- 
self, but  I  really  think  she  owes  it  to  your  dear  father, 
who  was  devoted  to  her  while  he  lived,  to  provide  for 
his  children  when  he  could  n't ;  "  after  which  remarkably 
spirited  speech  for  her,  Mrs.  Snow  dropped  a  tear,  and 
stitched  away  on  a  small  trouser-leg  which  was  suffering 
from  a  complicated  compound  fracture. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me,  mother  ;  I  '11  take  care 
of  myself  and  you  too,"  remarked  Toad}^,  with  the 
cheer}^  belief  in  impossibilities  which  makes  youth  so 
charming. 

"  Now,  Van,  tell  us  wiiat  to  do,  for  things  have  come 
to  such  a  pass  that  we  must  either  break  awa}^  altogether 
or  be  galley-slaves  as  long  as  Aunt  Kipp  lives,"  said 
Polly,  who  was  a  good  deal  excited  about  the  matter. 

"  Well,  really,  my  dear,  I  don't  know,"  hesitated 
Van,  who  did  know  w^hat  he  wanted,  but  thought  it 
mi2;ht  be  selfish  to  uro'e  it.  "  Have  vou  tried  to  soften 
your  aunt's  heart?  "  he  asked,  after  a  moment's  medita- 
tion. 

"Good  gracious.  Van,  she  hasn't  got  an}^,"  cried 
Polly,  who  firmly  believed  it. 

"It's  hossified,"  thoughtfully  remarked  Toady,  quite 
unconscious  of  any  approach  to  a  joke  till  every  one 
giggled. 

"  You've  had  hossification  enough  for  one  while,  my 
lad,"  laughed  Van.  "  Well,  Polly,  if  the  old  lady  has 
no  heart  you  'd  better  let  her  go,  for  people  without 
hearts  are  not  worth  much." 


42  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"That's  a  beautiful  remark,  Van,  and  a  wise  one. 
I  just  wish  she  could  hear  3'ou  make  it,  for  she  called 
you  a  fool,"  said  Poll3%  irefull}-. 

"  Did  she?  Well,  I  don't  mind,  I  'm  used  to  it,"  re- 
turned Van,  placidly ;  and  so  he  was,  for  Polly  called 
him  a  goose  every  day  of  her  life,  and  he  enjoyed  it 
immensely. 

"  Then  3'ou  think,  dear,  if  we  stopped  worrying  about 
aunt  and  her  mone^^,  and  worked  instead  of  waiting, 
that  we  should  n't  be  any  poorer  and  might  be  a  great 
deal  happier  than  we  are  now?  "  asked  Polly,  making  a 
pretty-  little  tableau  as  she  put  her  hand  through  Van's 
arm  and  looked  up  at  him  with  as  much  love,  respect, 
and  reliance  as  if  he  had  been  six  feet  tall,  with  the  face 
of  an  Apollo  and  the  manners  of  a  Chesterfield. 

"  Yes,  m}^  dear,  I  do,  for  it  has  troubled  me  a  good 
deal  to  see  you  so  badgered  b}^  that  very  uncomfortable 
old  lady.  Independence  is  a  verj^  nice  thing,  and  pov- 
erty is  n't  half  as  bad  as  this  sort  of  slaver}'.  But  3'Ou 
are  not  going  to  be  poor,  nor  worr}'  about  anything. 
We  '11  just  be  married  and  take  mother  and  Toad}'  home 
and  be  as  J0II3'  as  grigs,  and  never  think  of  Mrs.  K. 
again, — unless  she  loses  her  fortune,  or  gets  sick,  or 
comes  to  grief  in  an3'  wa3'.  We  'd  lend  her  a  hand  then, 
would  n't  we,  Polh^?  "  and  Van's  mild  face  was  pleasant 
to  behold  as  he  made  the  kindh'  proposition. 

"  Well,  we'd  think  of  it,"  said  Polly,  trying  not  to  re- 
lent, but  feeling  that  she  was  going  very  fast. 

"  Let 's  do  it !  "  cried  Toad3',  fired  with  the  thought  of 
priA^y  conspiracy  and  rebellion.  "  Mother  would  be  so 
comfortable  with  Polly,  and  I  'd  help  A^an  in  the  store, 
when  I  've  learned  that  confounded  multiplication  table," 


AUNT  KIPP.  43 

he  added  with  a  groan;  "and  if  Aunt  Kipp  comes  a 
visiting,  we'll  just  say  '  Not  at  home,'  and  let  her  trot 
off  again." 

"  It  sounds  very  nice,  but  aunt  will  be  dreadfully  of- 
fended and  I  don't  wish  to  be  ungrateful,"  said  Mrs. 
Snow,  brightening  visibh\ 

"  There 's  no  ingratitude  about  it,"  cried  Van.  "  She 
might  have  done  everything  to  make  you  love,  and  xq- 
spect,  and  admire  her,  and  been  a  happy,  useful,  moth- 
erly, old  soul ;  but  she  did  n't  choose  to,  and  now  she 
must  take  the  consequences.  No  one  cares  for  her,  be- 
cause she  cares  for  nobody  ;  her  mone}^  's  the  plague  of 
her  life,  and  not  a  single  heart  will  ache  when  she  dies." 

"  Poor  Aunt  Kipp  !  "  said  Polly,  softly. 

Mrs.  Snow  echoed  the  words,  and  for  a  moment  all 
thought  pitifully  of  the  woman  whose  life  had  given  so 
little  happiness,  whose  age  had  won  so  little  reverence, 
and  whose  death  would  cause  so  little  regret.  Even 
Toady  had  a  kind  thought  for  her,  as  he  broke  the 
silence,  saying  soberly,  — 

"  You  'd  better  put  tails  on  my  jackets,  mother  ;  then 
the  next  time  we  get  run  away  with,  Aunt  Kipp  will 
have  something  to  hold  on  hy" 

It  was  impossible  to  help  laughing  at  the  recollection 
of  the  old  lad}"  clutching  at  the  bo}^  till  he  had  hardl}^  a 
button  left,  and  at  the  paternal  air  with  which  he  now 
proposed  a  much-desired  change  of  costume,  as  if  in- 
tent on  Aunt  Kipp's  future  accommodation. 

Under  cover  of  the  laugh,  the  old  lady  stole  back  to 
bed,  wide  awake,  and  with  subjects  enough  to  meditate 
upon  now.  The  shaking  up  had  certainly  done  her 
good,  for  somehow  the  few  virtues  she  possessed  ,'?amo 


44  PROVERB  STORIES. 

to  the  surface,  and  the  mental  shower-bath  just  received 
had  produced  a  sahitary  change.  P0II3'  would  n't  have 
doubted  her  aunt's  possession  of  a  heart,  if  she  could 
have  known  the  pain  and  loneliness  that  made  it  ache,  as 
the  old  woman  crept  away ;  and  Toad}'  would  n't  have 
laughed  if  he  had  seen  the  tears  on  the  face,  between  the 
big  frills,  as  Aunt  Kipp  laid  it  on  the  pillow,  muttering, 
drearil}' ,  — 

"I  might  have  been  a  happj^  useful  woman,  but  I 
did  n't  choose  to,  and  now  it 's  too  late." 

It  was  too  late  to  be  all  she  might  have  been,  for  the 
work  of  seventy  selfish  \'ears  could  n't  be  undone  in  u 
minute.  But  with  regret,  rose  the  sincere  wish  to  earn  a 
little  love  before  the  end  came,  and  the  old  perversit}'  gave 
a  relish  to  the  reformation,  for  even  while  she  resolved 
to  do  the  just  and  generous  thing,  she  said  to  herself, — ■ 

' '  They  say  I  've  got  no  heart ;  I  '11  show  'em  that  1 
have  :  the}'  don't  want  my  mone}' ;  I  '11  make  'em  take  it : 
the}'  turn  their  backs  on  me  ;  I  '11  just  render  myself  so 
useful  and  agreeable  that  they  can't  do  without  me." 


III. 


Aunt  Kipr  sat  bolt  upright  in  the  parlor,  hemming  a 
small  handkerchief,  adorned  with  a  red  ship,  surrounded 
by  a  border  of  green  monkeys.  Toady  suspected  that 
this  elegant  article  of  dress  was  intended  for  him,  and 
yearned  to  possess  it;  so,  taking  advantage  of  his  moth- 
er's and  Polly's  absence,  he  strolled  into  the  room,  and, 
seating  himself  on  a  high,  hard  chair,  folded  his  hands, 


AUNT  KIPP.  45 

crossed  his  logs,  and  asked  for  a  story  with  the  thirst- 
ing-for-knowledge  air  which  httle  boys  wear  in  the 
moral  story-books. 

Now  Aunt  Kipp  had  one  soft  place  in  her  heart, 
though  it  was  partially  ossified,  as  she  very  truly  de- 
clared, and  Toady  was  enshrined  therein.  She  thought 
there  never  was  such  a  child,  and  loved  him  as  she  had 
done  his  father  before  him,  though  the  rack  wouldn't 
have  forced  her  to  confess  it.  She  scolded,  snubbed, 
and  predicted  he  'd  come  to  a  bad  end  in  public  ;  but  she 
forgave  his  naughtiest  pranks,  always  brought  him 
something  when  she  came,  and  privately  intended  to 
make  his  future  comfortable  with  half  of  her  fortunCc 
There  was  a  dash  and  daring,  a  generosity  and  integ- 
rity, about  the  little  fellow,  that  charmed  her.  Sophy 
was  weak  and  low-spirited,  Polly  prett3^  and  head- 
strong, and  Aunt  Kipp  did  n't  think  much  of  either  of 
them ;  but  Toady  defied,  distracted,  and  delighted  her, 
and  to  Toady  she  clung,  as  the  one  sunshin}-  thing  in 
her  sour,  selfish  old  age. 

When  he  made  his  demure  request,  she  looked  at  him, 
and  her  eyes  began  to  twinkle,  for  the  child's  purpose 
was  plainly  seen  in  the  loving  glances  cast  upon  the  pic- 
torial pocket-handkerchief. 

"A  story?  Yes,  I  '11  tell  3^ou  one  about  a  little  bo}^ 
who  had  a  kind  old  —  ahem  !  —  grandma.  She  was 
rich,  and  had  n't  made  up  her  mind  who  she  'd  leave  her 
money  to.  She  was  fond  of  the  boy,  —  a  deal  fonder 
then  he  deserved,  —  for  he  was  as  mischievous  a  monke}^ 
as  au}^  that  ever  lived  in  a  tree,  with  a  curly  tail.  He 
put  pepper  in  her  snufl[-box,"  —  here  Toady  turned  scar- 
let, —  "he  cut  up  her  best  frisette  to  make  a  mane  for 


46  PROVERB  STORIES. 

his  rocking-horse,"— Toady  opened  his  mouth  impulj 
sivelj,   but  shut  it  again  without  betraying  himself- 
"  he  repeated  rude  things  to  her,  and  called  her  '  an  oldl 
aggrewater,  '  "  —  here  Toady  wriggled  in  his  chair,  and] 
gave  a  little  gasp. 

"  If  you  are  tired  I  won't  go  on,"  observed  Aunt 
Kipp,  mildh'. 

"  I  'm  not  tired,  'm  ;  it 's  a  very  interesting  stor}',"  re- 
plied Toady,  with  a  gravity  that  nearly  upset  the  old 
lady. 

'-'  Well,  in  spite  of  all  this,  that  kind,  good,  forgiving 
grandma  left  that  bad  boy  twenty  thousand  dollars  when 
she  died.  What  do  you  think  of  tliat?"  asked  Aunt 
Kipp,  pausing  suddenly  with  her  sharp  eye  on  him. 

"I  —  I  think  she  was  a  regular  dear,"  cried  Toady, 
holding  on  to  the  chair  with  both  hands,  as  if  that 
climax  rather  took  him  off  his  legs. 

"-  And  what  did  the  boy  do  about  it?  "  continued  Aunt 
Kipp,  curiousl}'. 

"He  bought  a  velocipede,  and  gave  his  sister  half, 
and  paid  his  mother's  rent,  and  put  a  splendid  marble 
cherakin  over  the  old  lady,  and  had  a  jolly  good  time, 
and  —  " 

•'  What  in  the  world  is  a  cherakin?"  laughed  Aunt 
Kipp,  as  Toady  paused  for  breath. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?  It's  a  angel  cr3-ing,  or 
pointing  up,  or  flapping  his  wings.  They  have  them 
over  graves  ;  and  I  '11  give  you  the  biggest  one  I  can 
find  when  you  die.  But  I  'm  not  in  a  very  great  hurry 
to  have  3'ou." 

"Thankee,  dear;  I'm  in  no  hurry,  myself.  But, 
Toady,  the  boy  did  wrong  in  giving  his  sister  half;  she 


AUNT  KIPP.  ^7 

didn't   deserve  any;  and  the   grandma  left  word   she 
was  n't  to  have  a  penny  of  it." 

''-  Really?  "  cried  the  boy,  with  a  troubled  face. 
''  Yes,  really.  If  he  gave  her  any  he  lost  it  all ;  the 
old  lady  said  so.  Now  what  do  you  think?"  asked 
Aunt  Kipp,  who  found  it  impossible  to  pardon  Polly,  — 
perhaps  because  she  was  young,  and  pretty,  and  much 
beloved . 

Toady's  eyes  kindled,  and  his  red  cheeks  grew  redder 
still,  as  he  cried  out  defiantly,  — 

''  I  think  she  was  a  selfish  pig,  —  don't  3^ou?  " 
"No,  I  don't,  sir;    and   I'm   sure   that   little   boy 
was  n't  such  a  fool  as  to  lose  the  money.     He  minded 
his  grandma's  wishes,  and  kept  it  all." 

''No,  he  didn't,"  roared  Toady,  tumbUng  off  his 
chair  in  great  excitement.  "  He  just  threw  it  out  a 
winder,  and  smashed  the  old  cherakin  all  to  bits." 

Aunt  Kipp  dropped  her  work  with  a  shrill  squeak,  for 
she  thought  the  boy  was  dangerous,  as  he  stood  before 
her,  sparring  away  at  nothing  as  the  only  vent  for  his 
indignation. 

''It  isn't  an  interesting  story,"  he  cried;  "  and  I 
won't  hear  any  more  ;  and  I  won't  have  your  money  if 
I  may  n't  go  halves  with  Polly  :  and  I  '11  work  to  earn 
more  than  that,  and  we  '11  all  be  jolly  together,  and  you 
may  give  your  twenty  thousand  to  the  old  rag-bags,  and 
so  I  tell  you.  Aunt  Kipp." 

"Why,  Toady,  my  boy,  what's  the  matter?"  cried 
a  mild  voice  at  the  door,  as  young  Lamb  came  trotting 
up  to  the  rescue. 

"  Never  you  mind.  Baa-baa  ;  I  shan't  do  it ;  and  it 's 
a  mean  shame  Polly  can't  have  half;    then  she  could 


48  PROVERB  STORIES. 

marry  3'ou  and  be  so  happ3^,"  blubbered  Toad}^,  running 
to  try  to  hide  his  tears  of  disappointment  in  the  coat- 
skirts  of  his  friend. 

"'  Mr.  Lamb,  I  suppose  3'ou  are  that  misguided  3'oung 
man?  "  said  Aunt  Kipp,  as  if  it  was  a  personal  insult  to 
herself. 

"  Van  Bahr  Lamb,  ma'am,  if  you  please.  Yes,  thank 
3-0U,"  murmured  Baa-baa,  bowing,  blushing,  and  rump- 
ling his  curly  fleece  in  bashful  trepidation. 

"Don't  thank  me,"  cried  the  old  lad}^  "I'm  not 
going  to  give  3'OU  anything,  —  far  from  it.  I  object  to 
you  altogether.  What  business  have  3'ou  to  come  court- 
ing my  niece  ?  " 

"  Because  I  love  her,  ma'am,"  returned  Van,  w^ith 
unexpected  spirit. 

"  No,  3^ou  don't ;  3^ou  want  her  mone3^,  or  rather  my 
mone3\  She  depends  on  it ;  but  3'Ou  '11  both  be  disap- 
pointed, for  she  won't  have  a  penny  of  it,"  cried  Aunt 
Kipp,  who,  in  spite  of  her  good  resolutions,  found  it 
impossible  to  be  amiable  all  at  once. 

"  I  'm  glad  of  it !  "  burst  out  Van,  indignant  at  her 
accusation.  "I  didn't  w^ant  Polly  for  the  money;  I 
alwa3^s  doubted  if  she  got  it ;  and  I  never  wished  her  to 
make  herself  a  slave  to  anybod3^  I  've  got  enough  for 
all,  if  we  're  careful ;  and  when  m3'  share  of  the  Van 
Bahr  propert3'  comes,  we  shall  live  in  clover." 

"  What 's  that?  What  propertj^  are  3'OU  talking  of?  " 
demanded  Aunt  Kipp,  pricking  up  her  ears. 

"  The  great  Van  Bahr  estate,  ma'am.  There  has 
been  a  long  lawsuit  about  it,  but  it 's  nearl3'  settled,  and 
there  is  n't  much  doubt  that  we  shall  get  it.  I  am  the 
last  of  our  branch,  and  m3'  share  will  be  a  large  one." 


AUNT  KIP  P.  4i 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  I  wish  you  joy,"  said  Aunt  Kipp,  witn 
sudden  affabiHty ;  for  she  adored  wealth,  like  a  few 
other  persons  in  the  world.  "  But  suppose  you  don't 
get  it,  how  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  shall  tr}^  to  be  contented  with  my  salary 
of  two  thousand',  and  make  Polly  as  happy  as  I  can. 
Money  does  n't  always  make  people  happy  or  agreeable, 
I  find."  And  Van  looked  at  Aunt  Kipp  in  a 
way  that  would  have  made  her  hair  stand  erect  if 
she  had  possessed  any.  She  stared  at  him  a  mo- 
ment, then,  obeying  one  of  the  odd  whims  that 
made  an  irascible  weathercock  of  her,  she  said,  ab- 
ruptly, — 

' '  If  you  had  capital  should  3'ou  go  into  business  for 
yourself,  Mr.  Lambkin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  at  once,"  replied  Van,  promptly. 

"  Suppose  you  lost  the  Van  Bahr  money,  and  some 
one  offered  you  a  tidy  little  sum  to  start  with,  would  you 
take  it?" 

"  It  would  depend  upon  who  made  the  oifer,  ma'am," 
said  Van,  looking  more  like  a  sheep  than  ever,  as  he 
stood  staring  in  blank  surprise. 

"  Suppose  it  was  me,  wouldn't  you  take  it?"  asked 
Aunt  Kipp,  blandl^^,  for  the  new  fancy  pleased  her. 

"  No,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Van,  decidedly. 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  cried  the  old  lad}',  with  a 
shrillness  that  made  him  jump,  and  Toady  back  to  the 
door  precipitatel3\ 

"Because,  if  3'ou '11  excuse  my  speaking  plainly,  I 
think  you  owe  anything  you  may  have  to  spare  to  your 
niece,  Mrs.  Snow ;  "  and,  having  freed  his  mind.  Van 
joined  Toady,  ready  to  fly  if  necessary. 


50  PROVERB  STORIES. 

*'  You  're  an  idiot,  sir,"  began  Aunt  Kipp,  in  a  rage 
again. 

"  Thank  3'ou,  ma'am."  And  Van  actuall}^  laughed 
and  bowed  in  return  for  the  compliment. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  snapped  the  old  lady. 
' '  You  're  a  fool  and  Sophy  is  another.  She 's  no  strength 
of  mind,  no  sense  about  anything ;  and  would  make 
ducks  and  drakes  of  my  money  in  less  than  no  time  if  I 
gave  it  to  her,  as  I  've  thought  of  doing." 

"  Mrs.  Kipp,  3^ou  forget  who  you  are  speaking  to. 
Mrs.  Snow's  sons  love  and  respect  her  if  you  don't,  and 
they  won't  hear  anything  untrue  or  unkind  said  of  a 
good  woman,  a  devoted  mother,  and  an  almost  friend- 
less widow." 

Van  was  n't  a  dignified  man  at  all,  but  as  he  said  that 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  his  mild  eyes,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  face  and  manner  that  daunted  Aunt  Kipp 
more  than  the  small  fist  belligerentl}'  shaken  at  her  from 
behind  the  sofa.  The  poor  old  soul  was  cross,  and 
worried,  and  ashamed  of  herself,  and  being  as  feeble- 
minded as  Sophy  in  many  respects,  she  suddenly  burst 
into  tears,  and,  covering  her  face  with  the  gay  handker- 
chief, cried  as  if  bent  on  floating  the  red  ship  in  a  sea 
of  salt  water  without  delay. 

"I  'ma  poor,  lonel}',  abused  old  woman,"  she  moaned, 
with  a  green  monkey  at  each  eye.  ''  No  one  loves  me, 
or  minds  me,  or  thanks  me  when  I  want  to  help  'em. 
My  money's  only  a  worry ment  and  a  burden,  and  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  for  people  I  don't  want 
to  leave  it  to  ought  to  have  it,  and  people  I  do  like 
won't  take  it.  Oh,  deary  me,  what  shall  I  do !  what 
shall  I  do!" 


AUNT  KIPP.  51 

''  Shall  I  tell  you,  ma'am?  "  asked  Van,  gently,  for, 
though  she  was  a  veiy  provoking  old  lad}',  he  pitied  and 
wished  to  help  her. 

A  nod  and  a  gurgle  seemed  to  give  consent,  and, 
boldly  advancing.  Van  said,  with  blush  and  a  stammer, 
but  a  very  hearty  voice,  — 

'' I  think,  ma'am,  if  you'd  do  the  right  thing  with 
3^our  money  you  'd  be  at  ease  and  find  it  saved  a  deal  of 
worry  all  round.  Give  it  to  Mrs.  Snow  ;  she  deserves  it, 
poor  lad}',  for  she  's  had  a  hard  time,  and  done  her  duty 
faithfull}- .  Don't  wait  till  you  are  —  that  is,  till  you  — 
well,  till  3'ou  in  point  of  fact  die,  ma'am,  tjrive  it  now, 
and  enjoy  the  happiness  it  will  make.  Give  it  kindly, 
let  them  see  you  're  glad  to  do  it,  and  I  am  sure  you  '11 
find  them  grateful ;  I  'm  sure  3'ou  won't  be  lonely  any 
more,  or  feel  that  you  are  not  loved  and  thanked.  Try 
it,  ma'am,  just  try  it,"  cried  Van,  getting  excited  by  the 
picture  he  drew.  "  And  I  give  you  my  word  I'll  do 
my  best  to  respect  and  love  you  like  a  son,  ma'am." 

He  knew  that  he  was  promising  a  great  deal,  but  for 
Pollj^'s  sake  he  felt  that  he  could  make  even  that  Her- 
culean eflTort.  Aunt  Kipp  was  surprised  and  touched  ; 
but  the  contrary  old  lady  could  n't  make  up  her  mind 
to  yield  so  soon,  and  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  Toady 
had  n't  taken  her  by  storm.  Having  a  truly  masculine 
horror  of  tears,  a  very  tender  heart  under  his  tail- 
less jacket,  and  being  much  "  tumbled  up  and  down  in 
his  own  mind  "  by  the  events  of  the  week,  the  poor  little 
lad  felt  nerved  to  attempt  any  novel  enterprise,  even 
that  of  voluntaril}"  embracing  Aunt  Kipp.  First  a 
grimy  little  hand  came  on  her  shoulder,  as  she  sat  snif- 
fing behind  the  handkerchief;  then,  peeping  out,  she 


52  PROVERB   STORIES. 

saw  fin  fipple-cheeked  face  veiy  near  her  own,  with  cj^eg 
full  of  pity,  penitence,  and  affection ;  and  then  she 
heard  a  choky  little  voice  say  earnest^,  — 

"Don't  cry,  aunty;  I'm  sorry  I  was  rude.  Please 
be  good  to  Mother  and  Polly,  and  I'll  love  and  take 
care  of  j^ou,  and  stand  by  you  all  my  life.  Yes,  I'll  — 
I'll  kiss  you,  I. will,  b}'  George!"  And  with  one  pro- 
miscuous plunge  the  Spartan  bo}"  cast  himself  into  her 
arms. 

That  finished  Aunt  Kipp ;  she  hugged  him  close, 
and  cried  out  with  a  salute  that  went  off  like  a  pistol- 
shot,  — 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear  !  this  is  better  than  a  dozen 
cherakins  ! " 

When  Toady  emerged,  somewhat  flushed  and  tum- 
bled, Mrs.  Snow,  Polly,  and  Van  were  looking  on 
with  faces  full  of  wonder,  doubt,  and  satisfaction.  To 
be  an  object  of  interest  was  agreeable  to  Aunt  Kipp ; 
and,  as  her  old  heart  was  really  softened,  she  met  them 
with  a  gracious  smile,  and  extended  the  olive-branch 
generally. 

' '  Sophy,  I  shall  give  my  money  to  you  at  once  and 
entirely,  only  asking  that  you'll  let  me  stay  with  you 
when  Polly 's  gone.  I  '11  do  my  best  to  be  agreeable, 
and  you  '11  bear  with  me  because  I  'm  a  crank}',  soUtary 
old  woman,  and  I  loved  3'our  husband." 

Mrs.  vSnow  hugged  her  on  the  spot,  and  gushed,  of 
course,  murmuring  thanks,  welcomes,  and  promises  in 
one  grateful  burst. 

"Poll}',  I  forgive  3'ou ;  I  consent  to  your  marriage, 
and  will  provide  3'our  wedding  finer}'.  Mr.  Lamb,  you 
are  not  a  fool,  but  a  very  excellent  young   man.     I 


AUNT  KIPP.  53 

thank  3'ou  for  saving  my  life,  and  I  wish  you  well  with 
all  my  heart.  You  need  n't  sa}'  anything".  I  'm  far 
from  strong,  and  all  this  agitation  is  shortening  my 
life." 

Polly  and  Van  shook  her  hand  heartilj',  and  beamed 
upon  each  other  like  a  pair  of  infatuated  turtle-doves 
with  good  prospects. 

"  Toady,  3'ou  are  as  near  an  angel  as  a  boy  can  be. 
Put  a  name  to  whatever  3'ou  most  wish  for  in  the  world, 
and  it's  yours,"  said  Aunt  Kipp,  dramatically  waving 
the  rest  away. 

With  his  short  legs  wide  apart,  his  hands  behind  him, 
and  his  rosy  face  as  round  and  radiant  as  a  rising  sun. 
Toady  stood  before  the  fire  survej'ing  the  scene  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  successfully  carried  through  a  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous  undertaking,  and  was  n't  proud. 
His  face  brightened,  then  fell,  as  he  heaved  a  sigh,  and 
answered,  with  a  shake  of  his  curl}^  head,  — 

' '  You  can't  give  me  what  I  want  most.  There  are 
three  things,  and  I've  got  to  wait  for  them  all." 

"  Gracious  me,  what  are  they?"  cried  the  old  lady, 
good-naturedly,  for  she  felt  better  already. 

"  A  mustache,  a  beaver,  and  a  sweetheart,"  answered 
Toady,  with  his  eyes  fixed  wistfully  on  Baa-baa,  who 
possessed  all  these  blessings,  and  was  particularly  en- 
joying the  latter  at  that  moment. 

How  Aunt  Kipp  did  laugh  at  this  early  budding  of 
romance  in  her  pet !  And  all  the  rest  joined  her,  for 
Toad^^'s  sentimental  air  was  irresistible. 

"You  precocious  chick!  I  dare  say  3'ou  will  have 
them  all  before  we  know  where  we  are.  Never  mind, 
deary ;  you  shall  have  my  little  watch,  and  the  silver- 


54  PROVERB   STORIES. 

headed  cane  with  a  boar's  head  on  it,"  answered  the  old 
lady,  in  high  good-humor.  "  You  need  n't  blush,  dear  ; 
I  don't  bear  malice  ;  so  let 's  forget  and  forgive.  1  shall 
settle  things  to-morrow,  and  have  a  free  mind.  You 
are  welcome  to  my  money,  and  I  hope  I  shall  live  to 
see  you  all  enjoy  it." 

So  she  did  ;  for  she  lived  to  see  Soph}^  plump,  cheery, 
and  care-free ;  Polly  surrounded  by  a  flock  of  Lamb- 
kins ;  Van  in  possession  of  a  generous  slice  of  the  Van 
Bahr  fortune ;  Toady  revelling  in  the  objects  of  his 
desire  ;  and,  best  of  all,  she  lived  to  find  that  it  is  never 
too  late  to  make  oneself  useful,  happy,  and  beloved. 


PSYCHE'S   ART. 

"  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does. 


I. 

/^NCE  upon  a  time  there  raged  in  a  certain  city  one 
^^-^  of  those  fashionable  epidemics  which  occasionally 
attack  our  youthful  population.  It  wasn't  the  music 
mania,  nor  gymnastic  convulsions,  nor  that  wide-spread 
malady,  croquet.  Neither  was  it  one  of  the  new  danceC 
which,  like  a  tarantula-bite,  set  every  one  a  twirling, 
nor  stage  madness,  nor  yet  that  American  lecturing  in- 
fluenza which  yearly  sweeps  over  the  land.  No,  it 
was  a  new  disease  called  the  Art  fever,  and  it  at- 
tacked the  3^oung  women  of  the  community  with  great 
violence. 

Nothing  but  time  could  cure  it,  and  it  ran  its  course 
to  the  disma}^,  amusement,  or  edification  of  the  behold- 
ers, for  its  victims  did  all  manner  of  queer  things  in 
their  delirium.  They  besieged  potteries  for  clay,  drove 
Italian  plaster-workers  out  of  their  wits  with  unexe- 
cutable  orders,  got  neuralgia  and  rheumatism  sketching 
perched  on  fences  and  trees  like  artistic  hens,  and  caused 
a  rise  in  the  price  of  bread,  paper,  and  charcoal,  b}^  their 
ardor  in  cra3^oning.  The}^  covered  canvas  with  the  ex- 
pedition of  scene-painters,  had  classes,  lectures,  recep- 
tions, and  exhibitions,  made  models  of  each  other,  and 


56  PROVERB   STORIES. 

rendered  their  walls  hideous  with  bad  likenesses  of  all 
their  friends.  Their  conversation  ceased  to  be  intelli- 
gible to  the  uninitiated,  and  the^^  prattled  prettily  of 
"  chiaro  oscuro,  French  sauce,  refraction  of  the  angle 
of  the  e3'e,  seventh  spinus  process,  depth  and  juiciness 
of  color,  tender  touch,  and  a  good  tone."  Even  in 
dress  the  artistic  disorder  was  visible  ;  some  cast  aside 
crinoline  altogether,  and  stalked  about  with  a  severe 
simplicit}"  of  outline  worth}'  of  Flaxman.  Others  flushed 
themselves  with  scarlet,  that  no  landscape  which  the^' 
adorned  should  be  without  some  touch  of  Turner's 
favorite  tint.  Some  were  blue  in  ever}^  sense  of  the 
word,  and  the  heads  of  all  were  adorned  with  classic 
braids,  curls  tied  Hebe-wise,  or  hair  dressed  a  la 
hurricane. 

It  was  found  impossible  to  keep  them  safe  at  home, 
and,  as  the  fever  grew,  these  harmless  maniacs  invaded 
the  sacred  retreats  where  artists  of  the  other  sex  did 
congregate,  startling  those  anchorites  with  visions  of 
large-eyed  damsels  bearing  portfolios  in  hands  delicatel}^ 
begrimed  with  crayon,  chalk,  and  clay,  gliding  through 
the  corridors  hitherto  haunted  only  by  shabb}"  paletots, 
shadowy  hats,  and  cigar  smoke.  This  irruption  was 
borne  with  manly  fortitude,  not  to  say  cheerfulness,  for 
studio  doors  stood  hospitably  open  as  the  fair  invaders 
passed,  and  studies  from  life  were  generousl}^  offered 
them  in  glimpses  of  picturesque  gentlemen  posed  before 
easels,  brooding  over  master-pieces  in  "  a  divine  de- 
spair," or  attitudinizing  upon  couches  as  if  exhausted 
by  the  soarings  of  genius. 

An  atmosphere  of  romance  began  to  pervade  the  old 
buildings  when  the  girls  came,  and  nature  and  art  took 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  67 

turns.  There  were  peepings  and  whisperings,  much 
stifled  laughter  and  whisking  in  and  out ;  not  to  mention 
the  accidental  rencontres,  small  services,  and  e3^e  tele- 
grams, which  somewhat  lightened  the  severe  studies  of 
all  parties. 

Half  a  dozen  young  victims  of  this  malady  met  daily 
in  one  of  the  cells  of  a  great  art  bee-hive  called 
"Kaphael's  Rooms,"  and  devoted  their  shining  hours 
to  modelhng  fancy  heads,  gossiping  the  while ;  for  the 
poor  things  found  the  road  to  fame  rather  dull  and 
dusty  without  such  verbal  sprinklings. 

"Psyche  Dean,  j^ou 've  had  an  adventure!  I  see  it 
in  your  face  ;  so  tell  it  at  once,  for  we  are  as  stupid  as 
owls  here  to-da}^,"  cried  one  of  the  sisterhood,  as  a 
bright-eyed  girl  entered  with  some  precipitation. 

"I  dropped  my  portfolio,  and  a  man  picked  it  up, 
that 's  all,"  replied  Psyche,  hunying  on  her  gray  linen 
pinafore. 

"  That  won't  do  ;  I  know  something  interesting  hap- 
pened, for  you  've  been  blushing,  and  you  look  brisker 
than  usual  this  morning,"  said  the  first  speaker,  polish- 
ing off  the  massive  nose  of  her  Homer. 

"  It  was  n't  anything,"  began  Pysche  a  little  reluct- 
antly. "  I  was  coming  up  in  a  hurry  when  I  ran  against 
a  man  coming  down  in  a  hurry.  My  portfolio  slipped, 
and  my  papers  went  flying  all  about  the  landing.  Of 
course  we  both  laughed  and  begged  pardon,  and  I 
began  to  pick  them  up,  but  he  would  n't  let  me ;  so  I 
held  the  book  while  he  collected  the  sketches.  I  saw 
him  glance  at  them  as  he  did  so,  and  that  made  me 
blush,  for  they  are  wretched  things,  you  know." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  they  are  capital,  and  3'ou  are  a 


58  PROVERB  STORIES. 

regular  genius,  as  we  all  agree,"  cut  in  the  Homeric 
Miss  Cutter. 

"Never  tell  people  they  are  geniuses  unless  j'ou  wish 
to  spoil  them,"  returned  Psyche  severel}^  "  Well,  when 
the  portfolio  was  put  to  rights  I  was  going  on,  but  he 
fell  to  picking  up  a  httle  bunch  of  violets  I  had  dropped  ; 
3'ou  know  I  alwa^^s  wear  a  posy  into  town  to  give  me 
inspiration.  I  didn't  care  for  the  dusty  flowers,  and 
told  him  so,  and  hurried  away  before  any  one  came. 
At  the  top  of  the  stairs  I  peeped  over  the  railing,  and 
there  he  was,  gathering  up  every  one  of  those  half-dead 
violets  as  carefully  as  if  they  had  been  tea-roses." 

"Psyche  Dean,  you  have  met  j^our  fate  this  day!'* 
exclaimed  a  third  damsel,  with  straw-colored  tresses, 
and  a  good  deal  of  weedy  shrubbery  in  her  hat,  which 
gave  an  Ophelia-like  expression  to  her  sentimental 
countenance. 

Psyche  frowned  and  shook  her  head,  as  if  half  sony 
she  had  told  her  little  story. 

"  Was  he  handsome?"  asked  Miss  Larkins,  the  be- 
liever in  fate. 

"  I  did  n't  particularly  observe." 

"  It  was  the  red-headed  man,  whom  we  call  Titian  : 
he  's  always  on  the  stairs." 

"No,  it  wasn't;  his  hair  was  brown  and  curly," 
cried  Psyche,  innocently  faUing  into  the  trap. 

"  Like  Peerybingle's  bab}"  when  its  cap  was  taken 
off,"  quoted  Miss  Dickenson,  who  pined  to  drop  the 
last  two  letters  of  her  name. 

"Was  it  Murillo,  the  black-eyed  one?"  asked  the 
fair  Cutter,  for  the  girls  had  a  name  for  all  the  attitudi- 
nizcrs  and  promcnadcrs  whom  they  oftencst  met. 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  59 

"  No,  he  bad  gray  ej^es,  and  ver}^  fine  ones  they  were 
too,"  answered  Ps3'che,  adding,  as  if  to  herself,  ''  he 
looked  as  I  imagine  Michael  Angelo  might  have  looked 
when  3'oung." 

"  Had  he  a  broken  nose,  like  the  great  Mike  ?  "  asked 
an  irreverent  damsel. 

"If  he  had,  no  one  wonld  mind  it,  for  his  head  is 
splendid  ;  he  took  his  hat  off,  so  I  had  a  fine  view.  He 
is  n't  handsome,  bnt  he  '11  do  something,"  said  Psj'che, 
propheticall}',  as  she  recalled  the  strong,  ambitious  face 
which  she  had  often  observed,  but  never  mentioned 
before. 

"Well,  dear,  considering  that  you  didn't  'partic- 
ularly look '  at  the  man ,  joii  've  given  us  a  very  good 
idea  of  his  appearance.  We  '11  call  him  Michael  Angelo, 
and  he  shall  be  your  idol.  I  prefer  stout  old  Rembrandt 
m3'self,  and  Larkie  adores  that  dandified  Raphael,"  said 
the  lively  Cutter,  slapping  away  at  Homer's  bald  pate 
energetically,  as  she  spoke. 

"  Raphael  is  a  dear,  but  Rubens  is  more  to  m}^  taste 
now,"  returned  Miss  Larkins.  "He  was  in  the  hall 
yesterday  talking  with  Sir  Joshua,  who  had  his  inevitable 
umbrella,  like  a  true  Englishman.  Just  as  I  came  up, 
the  umbrella  fell  right  before  me.  I  started  back  ;  Sir 
Joshua  laughed,  but  Rubens  said,  '  Deuce  take  it !  '  and 
caught  up  the  umbrella,  giving  me  a  never-to-be-for- 
gotten look.     It  was  perfectly  thrilling." 

"Which, — the  umbrella,  the  speech,  or  the  look?" 
asked  Psj^che,  who  was  not  sentimental. 

"  Ah,  3'ou  have  no  soul  for  art  in  nature,  and  nature 
in  art,"  sighed  the  amber- tressed  Larkins.  "I  have, 
for  I  feed  upon  a  glance,  a  tint,  a  curve,  with  exquisite 


60  PROVERB   STORIES. 

delight.  Rubens  is  adorable  (as  a  study)  ;  that  lustrous 
e^-e,  that  night  of  hair,  that  sumptuous  cheek,  are  per- 
fect. He  only  needs  a  cloak,  lace  collar,  and  slouching 
hat  to  be  the  genuine  thing." 

"  This  isn't  the  genuine  thing  by  an}^  means.  What 
does  it  need?"  said  Psjxhe,  looking  with  a  despondent 
air,  at  the  head  on  her  stand. 

Man}^  would  have  pronounced  it  a  clever  thing ;  the 
nose  was  strictly  Greek,  the  chin  curved  upward  grace- 
fully, the  mouth  was  sweetly  haughty,  the  brow  classi- 
cally smooth  and  low,  and  the  breezy  hair  well  done. 
But  something  w^as  wanting  ;  Psyche  felt  that,  and  could 
have  taken  her  Venus  by  the  dimpled  shoulders,  and 
given  her  a  hearty  shake,  if  that  w^ould  have  put 
strength  and  spirit  into  the  lifeless  face. 

"  Now  /  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  Apollo, 
though  3'ou  all  insist  that  it  is  the  image  of  Theodore 
Smythe.  He  says  so  himself,  and  assures  me  it  will 
make  a  sensation  when  we  exhibit,"  remarked  Miss 
Larkins,  complacently  caressing  the  ambrosial  locks  of 
her  Smythified  Phebus. 

"  What  shall  you  do  if  it  does  not?  "  asked  Miss  Cut- 
ter, with  elegance. 

"I  shall  feel  that  I  have  mistaken  my  sphere,  shall 
drop  my  tools,  veil  my  bust,  and  cast  myself  into  the 
arms  of  Nature,  since  Art  rejects  me ;  "  replied  Miss 
Larkins,  with  a  tragic  gesture  and  an  expression  which 
strongly  suggested  that  in  her  e3'es  nature  meant  Theo- 
dore. 

"  She  must  have  capacious  arms  if  she  is  to  receive  all 
Art's  rejected  admirers.     Shall  I  be  one  of  them  ?  " 

Psyche  put  the  question  to  herself  as  she  turned  to 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  Gl 

work,  but  somehow  ambitions  aspirations  were  not  in  a 
flourishing  condition  that  morning ;  her  heart  was  not  in 
tune,  and  head  and  hands  sympathized.  Nothing  went 
well,  for  certain  neglected  home-duties  had  dogged  her 
into  town,  and  now  worried  her  more  than  dust,  or  heat, 
or  the  ceaseless  clatter  of  tongues.  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry's  unmended  hose  persisted  in  dancing  a  spectral 
jig  before  her  mental  eye,  mother's  querulous  complaints 
spoilt  the  song  she  hummed  to  cheer  herself,  and  little 
May's  wistful  face  put  the  goddess  of  beauty  entirely  out 
of  countenance. 

"It's  no  use  ;  I  can't  work  till  the  clay  is  wet  again. 
Where  is  Giovanni?"  she  asked,  throwing  down  her 
tools  with  a  petulant  gesture  and  a  dejected  air. 

"He  is  probablj^  playing  truant  in  the  empty  upper 
rooms,  as  usual.  I  can't  wait  for  him  any  longer,  so 
I  'm  doing  his  work  myself,"  answered  Miss  Dickensocf, 
who  was  tenderly  winding  a  wet  bandage  round  her 
Jimo's  face,  one  side  of  which  was  so  much  plumper 
than  the  other  that  it  looked  as  if  the  Queen  of  Olympus 
w^as  being  hydropathically  treated  for  a  severe  fit  of 
ague. 

"  I  '11  go  and  find  the  little  scamp  ;  a  run  will  do  me, 
good ;  so  will  a  breath  of  air  and  a  view  of  the  parlv 
from  the  upper  windows." 

Doffing  her  apron.  Psyche  strolled  away  up  an  unfre- 
quented staircase  to  the  empty  apartments,  which 
seemed  to  be  too  high  even  for  the  lovers  of  High  Art. 
On  the  western  side  they  were  shady  and  cool,  and,  lean- 
ing from  one  of  the  windows,  Ps3'che  watched  the  feath- 
ery ti'ee-tops  ruffled  by  the  balmy  wind,  that  brought 
spring  odors  from  the  hills,  lying  green  and  sunny,  far 


62  PROVERB   STORIES. 

away.  Silence  and  solitude  were  such  pleasant  compan- 
ions that  the  girl  forgot  herself,  till  a  shrill  whistle  dis- 
turbed her  day-dreams,  and  reminded  her  what  she 
came  for.  Following  the  sound  she  found  the  little  Ital- 
ian errand-bo3"  busily  uncovering  a  clay  model  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  a  scantily  furnished  room  near 

by- 

"  He  is  not  here  ;  come  and  look  ;  it  is  greatly  beauti- 
ful," cried  Giovanni,  beckoning  with  an  air  of  import- 
ance. 

Ps3xhe  did  look  and  speedily  forgot  both  her  errand 
and  herself.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  man,  standing  erect, 
and  looking  straight  before  him  with  a  wonderfull}'  life- 
like expression.  It  was  neither  a  mythological  nor  a 
historical  character,  Psyche  thought,  and  was  glad  of  it, 
being  tired  to  death  of  gods  and  heroes.  She  soon 
ceased  to  wonder  what  it  was,  feeling  only  the  indescrib- 
able charm  of  something  higher  than  beaut}'.  Small  as 
her  knowledge  was,  she  could  see  and  enjo}"  the  power 
visible  in  every  part  of  it ;  the  accurate  anatomy  of  the 
vigorous  limbs,  the  grace  of  the  pose,  the  strength  and 
spirit  in  the  countenance,  clay  though  it  was.  A  ma- 
jestic figure,  but  the  spell  la}^  in  the  face,  which,  while 
it  suggested  the  divine,  was  full  of  human  truth  and 
tenderness,  for  pain  and  passion  seemed  to  have  passed 
over  it,  and  a  humility  half  pathetic,  a  courage  half 
heroic  seemed  to  have  been  born  from  some  great  loss 
or  woe. 

How  long  she  stood  there  I\yche  did  not  know. 
Giovanni  went  away  unseen,  to  fill  his  water-pail,  and  in 
the  silence  she  just  stood  and  looked.  Her  eyes  kin- 
dled, her  color  rose,  despondency  and  discontent  van- 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  63 

ished,  and  her  soul  was  in  her  face,  for  she  loved  beaut}^ 
passionately,  and  all  that  was  best  and  truest  in  her  did 
honor  to  the  genius  of  the  unknown  worker. 

* '  If  I  could  do  a  thing  like  that,  I  'd  die  happ}^ !  " 
she  exclaimed  impetuously^,  as  a  feeling  of  despair 
came  over  her  at  the  thought  of  her  own  poor  at- 
tempts. 

"  Who  did  it,  Giovanni?  "  she  asked,  still  looking  up 
at  the  grand  face  with  unsatisfied  eyes. 

*'  Paul  Gage." 

It  was  not  the  boy's  voice,  and,  with  a  start,  Psj^che 
turned  to  see  her  Michael  Angelo,  standing  in  the  door- 
wa}',  attentivel}^  observing  her.  Being  too  full  of  art- 
less admiration  to  think  of  herself  just  yet,  she  neither 
blushed  nor  apologized,  but  looked  straight  at  him,  say- 
ing heartil}^,  — 

"  You  have  done  a  wonderful  piece  of  work,  and  I 
envy  you  more  than  I  can  tell !  " 

The  enthusiasm  in  her  face,  the  frankness  of  her  man- 
ner, seemed  to  please  him,  for  there  was  no  affectation 
about  either.  He  gave  her  a  keen,  kind  glance  out  of 
the  "  fine  gray  eyes,"  a  little  bow,  and  a  grateful  smile, 
saying  quietly,  — 

"  Then  my  Adam  is  not  a  failure  in  spite  of  his 
fall?" 

Psyche  turned  from  the  sculptor  to  his  model  with 
increased  admiration  in  her  face,  and  earnestness  in  her 
voice,  as  she  exclaimed  delighted,  — 

"  Adam  !  I  might  have  known  it  was  he.  O  sir,  you 
have  indeed  succeeded,  for  you  have  given  that  figure 
the  power  and  pathos  of  the  first  man  who  sinned  and 
suffered,  and  began  again." 


64  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied."  That  was  all  he  said,  but 
the  look  he  gave  his  work  was  a  ver}^  eloquent  one,  for 
it  betraj^ed  that  he  had  paid  the  price  of  success  in 
patience  and  privation,  labor  and  hope. 

"  What  can  one  do  to  learn  3'our  secret?  "  asked  the 
girl  wistfuU}',  for  there  was  nothing  in  the  man's  manner 
to  disturb  her  self- forgetful  mood,  but  much  to  foster  it, 
because  to  the  solitary  worker  this  confiding  guest  was 
as  welcome  as  the  doves  who  often  hopped  in  at  his 
window. 

''  Work  and  wait,  and  meantime  feed  heart,  soul, 
and  imagination  with  the  best  food  one  can  get,"  he 
answered  slowl}^  finding  it  impossible  to  give  a  receipt 
for  genius. 

' '  I  can  work  and  wait  a  long  time  to  gain  m}'  end  ; 
but  I  don't  know  where  to  find  the  food  you  speak  of?  " 
she  answered,  looking  at  him  like  a  hungr}'  child. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you,  but  each  needs  diflfcrent 
fare,  and  each  must  look  for  it  in  diff'crent  places." 

The  kindly  tone  and  the  sympathizing  look,  as  well 
as  the  lines  in  his  forehead,  and  a  few  gra}^  hairs  among 
the  brown,  gave  Psyche  courage  to  say  more. 

"  I  love  beauty  so  much  that  I  not  onlj-  want  to  pos- 
sess it  m3'self,  but  to  gain  the  power  of  seeing  it  in  all 
things,  and  the  art  of  reproducing  it  with  truth.  I  have 
tried  very  hard  to  do  it,  but  something  is  wanting ;  and 
in  spite  of  my  intense  desire  I  never  get  on." 

As  she  spoke  the  girl's  eyes  filled  and  fell  in  spite  of 
herself,  and  turning  a  little  with  sudden  shamefaced- 
ness  she  saw,  lying  on  the  table  beside  her  among 
other  scraps  in  manuscript  and  print,  the  well-known 
lines,  — 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  65 

"  I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty ; 
I  woke,  and  found  that  life  was  duty. 
Was  thy  dream  then  a  shadowy  lie  ? 
Toil  on,  sad  heart,  courageously, 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  to  be 
A  noonday  light  and  truth  to  thee." 

She  knew  them  at  a  glance,  had  read  them  many 
times,  but  now  they  came  home  to  her  with  sudden  force, 
and,  seeing  that  his  eye  had  followed  hers,  she  said  in 
her  impulsive  fashion,  — 

"  Is  doing  one's  duty  a  good  way  to  feed  heart,  soul, 
and  imagination  ?  " 

As  if  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  what  was  going  on 
in  her  mind,  Paul  answered  emphatically,  — 

"  Excellent ;  for  if  one  is  good,  one  is  happy,  and  if 
happ3",  one  can  work  well.  Moulding  character  is  the 
highest  sort  of  sculpture,  and  all  of  us  should  learn  that 
art  before  we  touch  clay  or  marble." 

He  spoke  with  the  energy  of  a  man  who  believed  what 
he  said,  and  did  his  best  to  be  worthy  of  the  rich  gift 
bestowed  upon  him.  The  sight  of  her  violets  in  a  glass 
of  water,  and  Giovanni  staring  at  her  with  round  e3'es, 
suddenly  recalled  Psj'che  to  a  sense  of  the  proprieties 
which  she  had  been  innocently  outraging  for  the  last 
ten  minutes.  A  sort  of  panic  seized  her  ;  she  blushed 
deeply,  retreated  precipitately  to  the  door,  and  vanished, 
murmuring  thauks  and  apologies  as  she  went. 

"  Did  you  find  him?  I  thought  you  had  forgotten," 
said  Miss  Dickenson,  now  hard  at  work. 

''  Yes,  I  found  him.  No,  I  shall  not  forget,"  returned 
Psyche,  thinking  of  Gage,  not  Giovanni. 

She  stood  before  her  work  eying  it  intently  for  several 
5 


0^  PROVERB  STORIES. 

minutes ;  then,  with  an  expression  of  great  contempt 
for  the  whole  thing,  she  suddenly  tilted  her  cherished 
Venus  on  to  the  floor,  gave  the  classical  face  a  finishing 
crunch,  and  put  on  her  hat  in  a  decisive  manner,  sa3'ing 
briefl}^  to  the  dismayed  damsels,  — 

"  Good-b}^,  girls  ;    I  shan't  come  any  more,  for  I  'm 
going  to  work  at  home  hereafter." 


II. 


The  prospect  of  pursuing  artistic  studies  at  home  was 
not  brilliant,  as  one  may  imagine  when  I  mention  that 
Psyche's  father  was  a  painfully  prosaic  man,  w^rapt  in 
flannel,  so  to  speak ;  for  his  woollen  mills  left  him  no 
time  for  an3'tliing  but  sleep,  food,  and  newspapers. 
Mrs.  Dean  was  one  of  those  exasperating  women  who 
pervade  their  mansions  like  a  domestic  steam-engine 
one  week  and  take  to  their  sofas  the  next,  absorbed  b}^ 
fidgets  and  foot-stoves,  shawls  and  lamentations.  There 
were  three  riotous  and  robust  young  brothers,  whom  it 
is  unnecessary  to  describe  except  by  stating  that  they 
were  boys  in  the  broadest  sense  of  that  delightful  word. 
There  was  a  feeble  little  sister,  whose  patient,  suffering 
face  demanded  constant  love  and  care  to  mitigate  the 
weariness  of  a  life  of  pain.  And  last,  but  not  least  by 
any  means,  there  were  two  Irish  ladies,  who,  with  the 
best  intentions  imaginable,  produced  a  universal  state  of 
topsy-turviness  when  left  to  themselves  for  a  moment. 

But  being  very  much  in  earnest  about  doing  her  dut}^, 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  G7 

not  because  it  was  lier  cliit}^  but  as  a  means  toward  an 
end,  Ps3'che  fell  to  work  with  a  will,  hoping  to  serve 
both  masters  at  once.  So  she  might  have  done,  per- 
haps, if  flesh  and  blood  had  been  as  plastic  as  cla}',  but 
the  live  models  were  so  exacting  in  their  demands  upon 
her  time  and  strength,  that  the  poor  statues  went  to  the 
w^all.  Sculpture  and  sewing,  calls  and  crayons,  Ruskin 
and  receipt-books,  did  n't  work  well  together,  and  poor 
Ps3'che  found  duties  and  desires  desperately  antagonis- 
tic.    Take  a  da}'  as  a  sample. 

''  The  washing  and  ironing  are  well  over,  thank  good- 
ness, mother  quiet,  the  boys  out  of  the  way,  and  May 
comfortable,  so  I  '11  indulge  myself  in  a  blissful  daj'  after 
my  own  heart,"  Ps^^che  said,  as  she  shut  herself  into  her 
little  studio,  and  prepared  to  enjoy  a  few  hours  of  hard 
study  and  happy  da3'-dreams. 

With  a  book  on  her  lap,  and  her  own  round  white  arm 
going  through  all  manner  of  queer  evolutions,  she  was 
placidly  repeating,  "  Deltoides,  Biceps,  Triceps,  Pro- 
nator, Supinator,  Palmanis,  Flexor  carpi  ulnaris  —  " 

"  Here  's  Flexis  what-j^ou-call-ums  for  you,"  inter- 
rupted a  voice,  which  began  in  a  shrill  falsetto  and 
ended  in  a  gruff  bass,  as  a  flushed,  dustA^  long-legged 
bo3'  burst  in,  with  a  bleeding  hand  obligingly"  extended 
for  inspection. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Harry  !  what  have  you  done  to  3'our- 
self  now  ?  Split  3"our  fingers  with  a  cricket-ball  again  ?  " 
cried  Psyche,  as  her  arms  went  up  and  her  book  went 
down. 

"  I  just  thrashed  one  of  the  fellows  because  he  got 
mad  and  said  father  was  going  to  fail." 

"O  Harry,  is  he?" 


68  PROVERB  STORIES. 

''  Of  course  he  is  n't !  It 's  hard  times  for  ever}'  one, 
but  father  will  pull  through  all  right.  No  use  to  ivy 
and  explain  it  all ;  girls  can't  understand  business ;  so 
you  just  tie  me  up,  and  don't  wony,"  was  the  charac- 
teristic reply  of  the  3'oung  man,  who,  being  three  years 
her  junior,  of  course  treated  the  weaker  vessel  with 
lordl}^  condescension. 

"  What  a  dreadful  wound  !  I  hope  nothing  is  broken, 
for  I  have  n't  studied  the  hand  much  yet,  and  may  do 
mischief  doing  it  up,"  said  Psjxhe,  examining  the  great 
grimy  paw  with  tender  solicitude. 

"  Much  good  3'our  biceps,  and  deltoids,  and  things 
do  3^ou,  if  you  can't  right  up  a  little  cut  like  that," 
squeaked  the  ungrateful  hero. 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  a  surgeon,  thank  heaven;  I 
intend  to  make  perfect  hands  and  arms,  not  mend  dam- 
aged ones,"  retorted  Ps^xhe,  in  a  dignified  tone,  some- 
what marred  bj^  a  great  piece  of  court-plaster  on  her 
tongue. 

"  I  should  say  a  surgeon  could  improve  that  perfect 
thing,  if  he  didn't  die  a-laughing  before  he  began," 
growled  Harry,  pointing  with  a  scornful  grin  at  a  clay 
arm  humpy  with  muscles,  all  carefullj'  developed  in  the 
wrong  places. 

"Don't  sneer  Hal,  for  you  don't  know  an3'thing 
about  it.  Wait  a  few  3'ears  and  see  if  3'ou  're  not  proud 
of  me." 

"  Sculp  away  and  do  something,  then  I'll  hurrah  for 
3'our  mud-pies  like  a  good  one ;  "  with  which  cheering 
promise  the  3'outh  departed,  having  etfectualh'  disturbed 
his  sister's  peaceful  mood. 

Anxious  thoughts  of  her  father  rendered   "  biceps, 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  69 

deltoids,  and  things"  uninteresting,  and  hoping  to  com- 
pose her  mind,  she  took  up  The  Old  Pauiters  and  went 
on  with  the  story  of  Claude  Lorraine.  She  had  just 
reached  the  tender  scene  where,  — 

"  Calista  gazed  with  enthusiasm,  while  she  looked 
like  a  being  of  heaven  rather  than  earth.  '  My  friend,' 
she  cried,  '  I  read  in  th}^  picture  thy  immortality  ! '  As 
she  spoke,  her  head  sunk  upon  his  bosom,  and  it  was 
several  moments  before  Claude  perceived  that  he  sup- 
ported a  lifeless  form." 

"  How  sweet !  "  said  Psyche,  with  a  romantic  sigh. 

"  Faith,  and  swate  it  is,  thin  !  "  echoed  Katy,  whose 
red  head  had  just  appeared  round  the  half  opened  door. 
"It's  gingy-bread  I'm  making  the  day,  miss,  and  will 
I  be  puttin'  purlash  or  sallyrathis  into  it,  if  ye  plase  ?  " 

"  Purlash,  by  all  means,"  returned  the  girl,  keeping 
her  countenance,  fearing  to  enrage  Katy  b}"  a  laugh ; 
for  the  angry  passions  of  the  red-haired  one  rose  more 
quickly  than  her  bread.  As  she  departed  with  alacrity 
to  add  a  spoonful  of  starch  and  a  pinch  of  whiting  to 
her  cake.  Psyche,  feeling  better  for  her  stor}^  and  her 
smile,  put  on  her  bib  and  paper  cap  and  fell  to  work  on 
the  deformed  arm.  An  hour  of  bliss,  then  came  a  ring 
at  the  door-bell,  followed  b}"  Biddy  to  announce  callers, 
and  add  that  as  "the  mistress  was  in  her  bed,  miss 
must  go  and  take  care  of  'em."  Whereat  "  miss"  cast 
down  her  tools  in  despair,  threw  her  cap  one  way,  her 
bib  another,  and  went  in  to  her  guests  with  anything 
but  a  rapturous  welcome. 

Dinner  being  accomplished  after  much  rushing  up  and 
down  stairs  with  trays  and  messages  for  Mrs.  Dean, 
Psyche  fled  again  to  her  studio,   ordering  no  one  to 


70  PROVERB  STORIES. 

approach  under  pain  of  a  scolding.  All  went  well  tili, 
going  in  search  of  something,  she  found  her  little  sister 
sitting  on  the  floor  with  her  cheek  against  the  studio 
door. 

' '  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  naughty,  S}^,  but  mother  is 
asleep,  and  the  bo3^s  all  gone,  so  I  just  came  to  be  neai 
you  ;  it's  so  lonely  everywhere,"  she  said,  apologeticalh', 
as  she  lifted  up  the  heavy  head  that  alwa3's  ached. 

' '  The  boys  are  very  thoughtless.  Come  in  and  stay 
with  me  ;  you  are  such  a  mouse  you  won't  disturb  me. 
Would  n't  you  like  to  play  be  a  model  and  let  me  draw 
your  arm,  and  tell  you  all  about  the  nice  little  bones 
and  muscles?"  asked  Psyche,  who  had  the  fever  very 
strong  upon  her  just  then. 

May  did  n't  look  as  if  the  proposed  amusement  over- 
whelmed her  with  delight,  but  meekly  consented  to  be 
perched  upon  a  high  stool  with  one  arm  propped  up  by 
a  dropsical  plaster  cherub,  while  Ps3xhe  drew  busil}^, 
feeUng  that  duty  and  pleasure  were  being  delightfully 
combined. 

"  Can't  you  hold  your  arm  still,  child?  It  shakes  so 
I  can't  get  it  right,"  she  said,  rather  impatientl3\ 

"No,  it  will  tremble  'cause  it's  weak.  I  tr3^  hard, 
S3',  but  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  strongness  in 
me  latel3\" 

''  That's  better  ;  keep  it  so  a  few  minutes  and  I  '11  be 
done,"  cried  the  artist,  forgetting  that  a  few  minutes 
may  seem  ages. 

"  My  arm  is  so  thin  you  can  see  the  bunches  nicel3', 
—  can't  3'ou  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

Ps3'che  glanced  up  at  the  wasted  limb,  and  when  she 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  71 

drew  again  there  was  a  blur  before  her  eyes  for  a 
minute. 

"  I  wish  1  was  as  fat  as  this  white  boy;  but  I  get 
thinner  every  da}'  somehow,  and  prett}'  soon  there  won't 
be  any  of  me  left  but  my  little  bones,"  said  the  child, 
looking  at  the  winged  cherub  with  sorrowful  envy. 

"Don't,  my  darUng ;  don't  say  that,"  cried  Psyche, 
dropping  her  work  with  a  sudden  pang  at  her  heart. 
''I'm  a  sinful,  selfish  girl  to  keep  3^ou  here!  3'ou 're 
weak  for  want  of  air ;  come  out  and  see  the  chickens, 
and  pick  dandelions,  and  have  a  good  romp  with  the 
boys." 

The  weak  arms  were  strong  enough  to  clasp  Psyche's 
neck,  and  the  tired  face  brightened  beautifully  as  the 
child  exclaimed,  with  grateful  delight,  — 

"  Oh,  I  'd  like  it  very  much  !  I  wanted  to  go  dread- 
fully ;  but  everybody  is  so  busy  all  the  time.  I  don't 
want  to  pla}',  Sy  ;  but  just  to  lie  on  the  grass  with  my 
head  in  3'Our  lap  while  you  tell  stories  and  draw  me 
pretty  things  as  3'ou  used  to." 

The  studio  was  deserted  all  that  afternoon,  for  Psj^che 
sat  in  the  orchard  drawing  squirrels  on  the  wall,  pert 
robins  hopping  by,  buttercups  and  mosses,  elves  and 
angels  ;  while  May  lay  contentedly  enjoying  sun  and 
air,  sisterly  care,  and  the  "  pretty  things  "  «he  loved  so 
well.  Psyche  did  not  find  the  task  a  hard  one  ;  for  this 
time  her  heart  was  in  it,  and  if  she  needed  any  reward 
she  surely  found  it ;  for  the  little  face  on  her  knee  lost 
its  weary  look,  and  the  peace  and  beauty  of  nature 
soothed  her  own  troubled  spirit,  cheered  her  heart,  and 
did  her  more  good  than  hours  of  solitary  study. 

Finding,  much  to  her  own  surprise,  that  her  fancy  was 


7'2  PROVERB   STORIES. 

teeming  with  lovely  conceits,  she  did  hope  for  a  quiet 
evening.  But  mother  wanted  a  bit  of  gossip,  father 
most  have  his  papers  read  to  him,  the  boys  had  lessons 
and  rips  and  grievances  to  be  attended  to,  May's  hillab\' 
could  not  be  forgotten,  and  the  maids  had  to  be  looked 
after,  lest  burh'  "cousins"  should  be  hidden  in  the 
boiler,  or  lucifer  matches  among  the  shavings.  So 
Psyche's  da}'  ended,  leaving  her  ver^'  tired,  rather  dis- 
couraged, and  almost  heart-sick  with  the  shadow  of  a 
coming  sorrow. 

All  summer  she  did  her  best,  but  accomplished  very 
little,  as  she  thought :  yet  this  was  the  teaching  she  most 
needed,  and  in  time  she  came  to  see  it.  In  the  autumn 
May  died,  whispering,  with  her  arms  about  her  sister's 
neck,  — 

••  You  make  me  so  happy,  Sy,  I  wouldn't  mind  the 
pain  if  I  could  stay  a  little  longer.  But  if  I  can't, 
good-by.  dear,  good-by." 

Her  last  look  and  word  and  kiss  were  all  for  Psyche, 
who  felt  tlien  with  grateful  tears  that  her  summer  had 
not  been  wasted  ;  for  the  smile  upon  the  little  dead  face 
was  more  to  her  than  any  marble  i)erfectiou  her  hands 
could  have  carved. 

In  the  solemn  pause  wliith  death  makes  in  ever}' fam- 
ily. Psyche  said,  with  the  sweet  self-forgetfulness  of  a 
strong  yet  tender  nature,  — 

"••I  must  not  tliink  of  myself,  but  try  to  comfort 
them  ;  "  and  with  this  resolution  she  gave  herself  heart 
and  soul  to  duty,  never  thinking  of  reward. 

A  busy,  anxious,  luuudrum  winter,  for,  as  Harry 
said,  'Mt  was  hard  times  lor  every  one."  ^Ir.  Dean 
<i:rew  ixnw  with  the  weight  of  business  cares  about  which 


PSYCHE'S   ART.  73 

he  never  spoke  ;  Mrs.  Dean,  laboring  under  the  dehision 
that  an  invahd  was  a  necessary  appendage  to  the  family, 
installed  herself  in  the  place  the  child's  death  left  va- 
cant, and  the  boys  needed  much  comforting,  for  the 
poor  lads  never  knew  how  much  they  loved  '^  the  baby  " 
till  the  little  chair  stood  empty.  All  turned  to  Sy  for 
help  and  consolation,  and  her  strength  seemed  to  in- 
crease with  the  demand  upon  it.  Patience  and  cheer- 
fulness, courage  and  skill  came  at  her  call  like  good 
fairies  who  had  bided  their  time.  Housekeeping  ceased 
to  be  hateful,  and  peace  reigned  in  parlor  and  kitchen 
while  Mrs.  Dean,  shrouded  in  shawls,  read  Hahnemann's 
Lesser  Writings  on  her  sofa.  Mr.  Dean  sometimes  for- 
got his  mills  when  a  bright  face  came  to  meet  him,  a 
gentle  hand  smoothed  the  wrinkles  out  of  his  anxious 
forehead,  and  a  daughterly  heart  sympatliized  with  all 
his  cares.  The  boys  found  home  very  pleasant  with  Sy 
always  there  ready  to  "  lend  a  hand,"  whether  it  was  to 
make  fancy  ties,  help  conjugate  "  a  confounded  verb," 
pull  cand}',  or  sing  sweetl}^  in  the  twilight  when  all 
thought  of  little  May  and  grew  quiet. 

The  studio  door  remained  locked  till  her  brothers 
begged  Psyche  to  open  it  and  make  a  bust  of  the  child. 
A  flush  of  joy  swept  over  her  face  at  the  request,  and 
her  patient  e3^es  grew  bright  and  eager,  as  a  thirsty  trav- 
eller's might  at  the  sight  or  sound  of  water.  Then  it 
faded  as  she  shook  her  head,  saying  with  a  regretful 
sigh,  "I  'm  afraid  I  've  lost  the  little  skill  I  ever  had." 

But  she  tried,  and  with  great  wonder  and  delight  dis- 
covered that  she  could  work  as  she  had  never  done  be- 
fore. She  thought  the  newly  found  power  lay  in  her 
longing  to  see  the  little  face  again  ;  fur    it   grew    lilve 


74  PROVERB  STORIES. 

magic  under  her  loving  hands,  while  ever}^  tender  mem- 
ory, sweet  tlionght,  and  devout  hope  she  had  ever  cher- 
ished, seemed  to  lend  their  aid.  But  when  it  was  done 
and  welcomed  with  tears  and  smiles,  and  praise  more 
precious  than  any  the  world  could  give,  then  Ps3^che 
said  within  herself,  like  one  who  saw  light  at  last,  — 

"  He  was  right ;  doing  one's  duty  is  the  way  to  feed 
heart,  soul,  and  imagination ;  for  if  one  is  good,  one  is 
happy,  and  if  happy,  one  can  work  well." 


III. 

' '  She  broke  her  head  and  went  home  to  come  no 
more,"  was  Giovanni's  somewhat  startling  answer  when 
Paul  asked  about  Psyche,  finding  that  he  no  longer  met 
her  on  the  stairs  or  in  the  halls.  He  understood  what 
the  boy  meant,  and  with  an  approving  nod  turned  to  his 
work  again,  saying,  ''  I  like  that !  If  there  is  any  power 
in  her,  she  has  taken  the  right  way  to  find  it  out,  I  sus- 
pect." 

How  she  prospered  he  never  asked ;  for,  though  he 
met  her  more  than  once  that  3'ear,  the  interviews  were 
brief  ones  in  street,  concert-room,  or  picture-gallcr}^, 
and  she  carefully  avoided  speaking  of  herself.  But, 
possessing  the  gifted  e^'cs  which  can  look  below  the  sur- 
face of  things,  he  detected  in  the  girl's  face  something 
better  than  beauty,  though  each  time  he  saw  it,  it  looked 
older  and  more  thoughtful,  often  anxious  and  sad. 

"  She  is  "ettinii:  on,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  cordial 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  75 

satisfaction  which  gave  his  manner  a  friendliness  as 
grateful  to  Ps3'che  as  his  wise  reticence. 

Adam  was  finished  at  last,  proved  a  genuine  success, 
and  Paul  heartily  enjo3"ed  the  well-earned  reward  for 
3'ears  of  honest  work.  One  blithe  Ma}^  morning,  he 
slipped  earl}'  into  the  art-gallery,  where  the  statue  now 
stood,  to  look  at  his  creation  with  paternal  pride.  He 
was  quite  alone  with  the  stately  figure  that  shone  white 
against  the  purple  draperies  and  seemed  to  offer  him  a 
voiceless  welcome  from  its  marble  lips.  He  gave  it  one 
loving  look,  and  then  forgot  it,  for  at  the  feet  of  his 
Adam  lay  a  handful  of  wild  violets,  with  the  dew  still 
on  them.  A  sudden  smile  broke  over  his  face  as  he 
took  them  up,  with  the  thought,  "  She  has  been  here 
and  found  my  work  good." 

For  several  moments  he  stood  thoughtfully  turning 
the  flowers  to  and  fro  in  his  hands ;  then,  as  if  deciding 
some  question  within  himself,  he  said,  still  smiling,  — 

"It  is  just  a  year  since  she  went  home;  she  must 
have  accomplished  something  in  that  time  ;  I'll  take  the 
violets  as  a  sign  that  I  may  go  and  ask  her  what." 

He  knew  she  lived  just  out  of  the  city,  between  the 
river  and  the  mills,  and  as  he  left  the  streets  behind 
him,  he  found  more  violets  blooming  all  along  the  way 
like  flowery  guides  to  lead  him  right.  Greener  grew  the 
road,  balmier  blew  the  wind,  and  blither  sang  the  birds, 
as  he  went  on,  enjoj'ing  his  holiday  with  the  zest  of  a 
boy,  until  he  reached  a  most  attractive  little  path  wind- 
ing away  across  the  fields.  The  gate  swung  invitingly 
open,  and  all  the  ground  before  it  was  blue  with  violets. 
Still  following  their  guidance  he  took  the  narrow  path, 
till,  coming  to  a  mossy  stone   beside  a  brook,  he  sat 


76  PROVERB   STORIES. 

down  to  listen  to  the  blackbirds  singing  deliciously  in 
the  willows  over  head.  Close  by  the  stone,  half  hidden 
in  the  grass  lay  a  little  book,  and,  taking  it  up  he  found 
it  was  a  ppcket-diary.  No  name  appeared  on  the  %- 
leaf,  and,  turning  the  pages  to  find  some  clue  to  its 
owner,  he  read  here  and  there  enough  to  give  him 
glimpses  into  an  innocent  and  earnest  heart  which 
seemed  to  be  learning  some  hard  lesson  patientl3\ 
Only  near  the  end  did  he  find  the  clue  in  words  of  his 
own,  spoken  long  ago,  and  a  name.  Then,  though  long- 
ing intensely'  to  know  more,  he  shut  the  little  book  and 
went  on,  showing  by  his  altered  face  that  the  simple 
record  of  a  girl's  life  had  touched  him  deeply. 

Soon  an  old  house  appeared  nestling  to  the  hillside 
with  the  river  shining  in  the  low  green  meadows  just 
before  it. 

"  She  lives  there,"  he  said,  with  as  much  certaint}'  as 
if  the  pansies  by  the  door-stone  spelt  her  name,  and, 
knocking  he  asked  for  Psyche. 

"  She  's  gone  to  town,  but  I  expect  her  home  every 
minute.  Ask  the  gentleman  to  walk  in  and  wait,  Katy," 
cried  a  voice  from  above,  where  the  w^iisk  of  skirts  was 
followed  by  tj[ie  appearance  of  an  inquiring  eye  over  the 
banisters. 

The  gentleman  did  walk  in,  and  while  he  waited  looked 
about  him.  The  room,  though  very  simply  furnished, 
had  a  good  deal  of  beauty  in  it,  for  the  pictures  were 
few  and  well  chosen,  the  books  such  as  never  grow  old, 
the  music  lying  on  the  well-worn  piano  of  the  sort  which 
is  never  out  of  fashion,  and  standing  somewhat  apart 
was  one  small  statue  in  a  recess  full  of  flowers.  Lovely 
in  its  simple  grace  and  truth  was  the  figure  of  a  child 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  77 

looking  upward  as  if  watching  the  air}--  flight  of  some 
butterfly  which  had  evidently  escaped  from  the  chiysa- 
lis  still  \y\ng  in  the  little  hand. 

Paul  was  looking  at  it  with  approving  eyes  when 
Mrs.  Dean  appeared  with  his  card  in  her  hand,  three 
shawls  on  her  shoulders,  and  in  her  face  a  somewhat 
startled  expression,  as  if  she  expected  some  novel 
demonstration  from  the  man  whose  genius  her  daughter 
so  much  admired. 

"I  hope  Miss  Ps3'che  is  well,"  began  Paul,  with 
great  discrimination  if  not  originalit3\ 

The  delightfully  commonplace  remark  tranquillized 
Mrs.  Dean  at  once,  and,  taking  off"  the  upper  shawl 
with  a  fuss}^  gesture,  she  settled  herself  for  a  chat. 

"  Yes,  thank  heaven,  Sy  is  well.  I  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  us  if  she  was  n't.  It  has  been  a  hard 
and  sorrowful  3'ear  for  us  with  Mr.  Dean's  business  em- 
barrassments, my  feeble  health,  and  May's  death.  I 
don't  know  that  3'ou  were  aware  of  our  loss,  sir  ;  "  and 
unaff'ected  maternal  grief  gave  sudden  dignit}-  to  the 
faded,  fretful  face  of  the  speaker. 

Paul  murmured  his  regrets,  understanding  better  now 
the  pathetic  words  on  a  certain  tear-stained  page  of  the 
little  book  still  in  his  pocket. 

"Poor  dear,  she  suff'ered  everything,  and  it  came 
very  hard  upon  Sy,  for  the  chikl  was  n't  happy  with  any 
one  else,  and  almost  lived  in  her  arms,"  continued 
Mrs.  Dean,  dropping  the  second  shawl  to  get  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"Miss  Ps3'che  has  not  had  much  time  for  art-studies 
tills  year,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Paul,  hoping  to  arrest  the 
shower,  natural  as  it  was. 


78  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  How  could  she  with  two  invaUds,  the  housekeeping, 
her  father  and  the  boys  to  attend  to?  No,  she  gave  that 
up  last  spring,  and  though  it  was  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  her  at  the  time,  she  has  got  over  it  now,  I 
hope,"  added  her  mother,  remembering  as  she  spoke 
that  Psyche  even  now  went  about  the  house  some- 
times pale  and  silent,  with  a  hungry  look  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  though  a  little  shadow  passed 
over  his  face  as  Paul  spoke,  for  he  was  too  true  an 
artist  to  believe  that  an}^  work  could  be  as  happy  as 
that  which  he  loved  and  lived  for.  "I  thought  there 
was  much  promise  in  Miss  Psyche,  and  I  sincerel}^  be- 
lieve that  time  will  prove  me  a  true  prophet,"  he  said, 
with  mingled  regret  and  hope  in  his  voice,  as  he  glanced 
about  the  room,  which  betra^'ed  the  tastes  still  cherished 
by  the  girl. 

"I'm  afraid  ambition  is  n't  good  for  women  ;  I  mean 
the  sort  that  makes  them  known  b}'  coming  before  the 
public  in  any  way.  But  Sy  deserves  some  reward,  I  'm 
sure,  and  I  know  she  '11  have  it,  for  a  better  daughter 
never  lived." 

Here  the  third  shawl  was  cast  off,  as  if  the  thought  of 
Ps3'che,  or  the  presence  of  a  genial  guest  had  touched 
Mrs.  Dean's  chilly  nature  with  a  comfortable  warmth. 

Further  conversation  was  interrupted  b^^  the  ava- 
lanche of  boys  which  came  tumbling  down  the  front 
stairs,  as  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  shouted  in  a  sort  of 
chorus,  — 

''83^  my  balloon  has  got  awa}-;  lend  us  a  hand  at 
catching  him  !  " 

"  Sy,  I  want  a  lot  of  paste  made,  right  off." 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  79 

''  Sy,  I  've  split  my  jacket  down  the  back  ;  come  sew 
me  up,  there  's  a  dear  !  " 

On  beholding  a  stranger  the  young  gentlemen  sud- 
denly  lost  their  voices,  found  their  manners,  and  with 
nods  and  grins  took  themselves  away  as  quietly  as 
could  be  expected  of  six  clumping  boots  and  an  un- 
limited quantit}^  of  animal  spirits  in  a  high  state  of 
effervescence.  As  they  trooped  off,  an  unmistakable 
odor  of  burnt  milk  pervaded  the  air,  and  the  crash  of 
china,  followed  by  an  Irish  wail,  caused  Mrs.  Dean  to 
clap  on  her  three  shawls  again  and  excuse  herself  in 
visible  trepidation. 

Paul  laughed  quietly  to  himself,  then  turned  sober 
and  said,  "Poor  Psyche!"  with  a  sympathetic  sigh. 
He  roamed  about  the  room  impatiently  till  the  sound  of 
voices  drew  him  to  the  window  to  behold  the  girl  com- 
ing up  the  walk  with  her  tired  old  father  leaning  on  one 
arm,  the  other  loaded  with  baskets  and  bundles,  and 
her  hands  occupied  by  a  remarkably  ugly  turtle. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  cried  a  cheery  voice,  as  they  en- 
tered without  observing  the  new-comer.  "I  've  done 
all  my  errands  and  had  a  lovely  time.  There  is  Tom's 
gunpowder,  Dick's  fish-hooks,  and  one  of  Professor 
Gazzy's  famous  turtles  for  Harry.  Here  are  your  bun- 
dles, mother  dear,  and,  best  of  all,  here  's  father  home 
in  time  for  a  good  rest  before  dinner.  I  went  to  the 
mill  and  got  him." 

Psyche  spoke  as  if  she  had  brought  a  treasure ;  and 
so  she  had,  for  though  Mr.  Dean's  face  usually  was 
about  as  expressive  as  the  turtle's,  it  woke  and  warmed 
with  the  affection  which  his  daughter  had  fostered  till 
no  amount  of  flannel  could  extinguish  it.     His  big  hand 


80  PROVERB  STORIES. 

patted  her  cheek  very  gently  as  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
fatherly  love  and  pride,  — 

"  My  little  Sy  never  forgets  old  father,  does  she?" 

"  Good  gracious  me,  my  dear,  there's  such  a  mess 
in  the  kitchen  !  Katy  's  burnt  up  the  pudding,  put  castor- 
oil  instead  of  olive  in  the  salad,  smashed  the  best  meat- 
dish,  and  here 's  Mr.  Gage  come  to  dinner,"  cried  Mrs. 
Dean  in  accents  of  despair  as  she  tied  up  her  head  in  a 
fourth  shawl. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad;  I'll  go  in  and  see  him  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  I'll  come  and  attend  to  everything; 
so  don't  wony,  mother." 

' '  How  did  you  find  me  out  ?  "  asked  Psyche  as  she 
shook  hands  with  her  guest  and  stood  looking  up  at 
him  with  all  the  old  confiding  frankness  in  her  face  and 
manner. 

"  The  violets  showed  me  the  way." 

She  glanced  at  the  posy  in  his  button-hole  and 
smiled. 

"  Yes,  I  gave  them  to  Adam,  but  I  did  n't  think  5'ou 
would  guess.  I  enjoyed  3'our  work  for  an  hour  to-day, 
and  I  have  no  words  strong  enough  to  express  my 
admiration." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  any.  Tell  me  about  3'ourself ; 
what  have  you  been  doing  all  this  year?"  he  asked, 
watching  with  genuine  satisfaction  the  serene  and  sunny 
face  before  him,  for  discontent,  anxiety,  and  sadness 
were  no  longer  visible  there. 

"  I  've  been  working  and  waiting,"  she  began. 

"  And  succeeding,  if  I  ma}^  believe  what  I  see  and 
hear  and  read,"  ho  said,  with  an  expressive  little  wave 
of  the  book  as  he  laid  it  down  before  her. 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  81 

"  M}^  diar}" !  I  did  n't  know  I  had  lost  it.  Where  did 
you  find  it?  " 

"  By  the  brook  where  I  stopped  to  rest.  The  mo- 
ment I  saw  your  name  I  shut  it  up.  Forgive  me,  but  I 
can't  aslv  pardon  for  reading  a  few  pages  of  that  Uttle 
gospel  of  patience,  love,  and  self-denial." 

She  gave  him  a  reproachful  look,  and  hurried  the  tell- 
tale book  out  of  sight  as  she  said,  with  a  momentary 
shadow  on  her  face,  — 

' '  It  has  been  a  hard  task  ;  but  I  think  I  have  learned 
it,  and  am  just  beginning  to  find  that  my  dream  is  '  a 
noonday  light  and  truth,'  to  me." 

"  Then  you  do  not  relinquish  your  hopes,  and  lay 
down  3'our  tools  ?  "  he  asked,  with  some  eagerness. 

"Never!  I  thought  at  first  that  I  could  not  serve 
two  masters,  but  in  trying  to  be  faithful  to  one  I  find  I 
am  nearer  and  dearer  to  the  other.  My  cares  and  duties 
are  growing  lighter  every  day  (or  I  have  learned  to  bear 
them  better),  and  when  my  leisure  does  come  I  shall 
know  how  to  use  it,  for  my  head  is  full  of  ambitious 
plans,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  do  something  now.'' 

All  the  old  enthusiasm  shone  in  her  eyes,  and  a  sense 
of  power  betrayed  itself  in  voice  and  gesture  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  believe  it,"  he  said  heartily.  "  You  have  learned 
the  secret,  as  that  proves." 

Psyche  looked  at  the  childish  image  as  he  pointed  to 
it,  and  into  her  face  there  came  a  motherly  expression 
that  made  it  very  sweet. 

"  That  little  sister  was  so  dear  to  me  I  could  not  fail 
to  make  her  lovely,  for  I  put  my  heart  into  my  work. 
The  year  has  gone,  but  I  don't  regret  it,  though  this  is 
all  I  have  done." 


82  PROVERB  STORIES. 

' '  You  forget  your  three  wishes  ;  I  think  the  year  has 
granted  them." 

''What  were  they?" 

"  To  possess  beaut}^  in  3'ourself,  the  power  of  seeing 
it  in  all  things,  and  the  art  of  reproducing  it  with 
truth." 

She  colored  deeply  under  the  glance  which  accompa- 
nied the  threefold  compliment,  and  answered  with  grate- 
ful humility,  — 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  say  so  ;  I  wish  I  could  believe 
it."  Then,  as  if  anxious  to  forget  herself,  she  added 
rather  abruptly-,  — 

"  I  hear  you  think  of  giving  3'our  Adam  a  mate,  — 
nave  you  begun  yet  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  design  is  finished,  all  but  the  face." 

"  I  should  think  you  could  image  Eve's  beaut}',  since 
you  have  succeeded  so  well  with  Adam's." 

"  The  features  perhaps,  but  not  the  expression. 
That  is  the  charm  of  feminine  faces,  a  charm  so  subtile 
that  few  can  catch  and  keep  it.  I  want  a  truly  womanl}' 
face,  one  that  shall  be  sweet  and  strong  without  being 
either  weak  or  hard.  A  hopeful,  loving,  earnest  face 
with  a  tender  touch  of  motherliness  in  it,  and  perhaps 
the  shadow  of  a  grief  that  has  softened  but  not  saddened 
it." 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  find  a  face  like  that." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  find  it  in  perfection;  but  one 
sometimes  sees  faces  which  suggest  all  this,  and  in  rare 
moments  give  glimpses  of  a  lovely  possibility." 

"I  sincerely  hope  you  will  find  one  then,"  said 
Ps^xhe,  thinking  of  the  dinner. 

"  Thank  3'ou  ;  /  think  I  have." 


PSYCHE'S  ART.  83 

Now,  in  order  that  every  one  may  be  suited,  we  will 
stop  here,  and  leave  our  readers  to  finish  the  story  as 
the}'  like.  Those  who  prefer  the  good  old  fashion  may 
believe  that  the  hero  and  heroine  fell  in  love,  were  mar- 
ried, and  lived  happily  ever  afterward.  But  those  who 
can  conceive  of  a  world  outside  of  a  wedding-ring  ma}- 
believe  that  the  friends  remained  faithful  friends  all 
their  lives,  while  Paul  won  fame  and  fortune,  and  Psyche 
grew  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of  a  serene  and  sunny 
nature,  happy  in  duties  which  became  pleasures,  rich  in 
the  art  which  made  life  lovely  to  herself  and  others,  and 
brought  rewards  in  time. 


A   COUNTRY   CHRISTMAS. 

A  handful  of  good  life  is  worth  a  bushel  of  learning. 


DEAR  EMILY,  —  I  have  a  brilliant  idea,  and 
at  once  hasten  to  share  it  with  you.  Three 
weeks  ago  I  came  up  here  to  the  wilds  of  Vermont  to 
visit  m}^  old  aunt,  also  to  get  a  little  quiet  and  distance 
in  which  to  survey  certain  new  prospects  which  have 
opened  before  me,  and  to  decide  whether  I  will  many  a 
millionnaire  and  become  a  queen  of  societ}^  or  remain 
'  the  charming  Miss  Vaughan '  and  wait  till  the  conquer- 
ing hero  comes. 

"  Aunt  Plum}^  begs  me  to  stay  over  Christmas,  and 
I  have  consented,  as  I  always  dread  the  formal  dinner 
with  which  my  guardian  celebrates  the  day. 

"  M}^  brilliant  idea  is  this.  I  'm  going  to  make  it  a 
real  old-fashioned  frolic,  and  won't  3'ou  come  and  help 
me?  You  will  enjoy  it  immensely  I  am  sure,  for  Aunt 
is  a  character,  Cousin  Saul  worth  seeing,  and  Ruth  a 
far  prettier  girl  than  any  of  the  city  rose-buds  coming 
out  this  season.  Bring  Leonard  Randal  along  with  you 
to  take  notes  for  his  new  book ;  then  it  will  be  fresher 
and  truer  than  the  last,  clever  as  it  was. 

''  The  air  is  delicious  up  here,  societ}'  amusing,  this 
old  farmhouse  full  of  treasures,  and  your  bosom  friend 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  85 

pining  to  embrace  you.     Just  telegraph  yes  or  no,  and 
we  will  expect  jou  on  Tuesday. 

''  Ever  3'ours, 

"  Sophie  Vaughan.' 

*'  They  will  both  come,  for  they  are  as  tired  of  city 
life  and  as  fond  of  change  as  I  am,"  said  the  writer  of 
the  above,  as  she  folded  her  letter  and  went  to  get  it 
posted  without  delay. 

Aunt  Plumy  was  in  the  great  kitchen  making  pies  ;  a 
jolly  old  soul,  with  a  face  as  ruddy  as  a  winter  apple,  a 
cheery  voice,  and  the  kindest  heart  that  ever  beat  under 
a  gingham  gown.  Pretty  Ruth  was  chopping  the  mince, 
and  singing  so  gaily  as  she  worked  that  the  four-and- 
twenty  immortal  blackbirds  could  not  have  put  more 
music  into  a  pie  than  she  did.  Saul  was  piling  wood 
into  the  big  oven,  and  Sophie  paused  a  moment  on  the 
threshold  to  look  at  him,  for  she  always  enjoyed  the 
sight  of  this  stalwart  cousin,  whom  she  likened  to  a 
Norse  viking,  with  his  fair  hair  and  beard,  keen  blue 
e3'es,  and  six  feet  of  manly  height,  with  shoulders  that 
looked  broad  and  strong  enough  to  bear  any  burden. 

His  back  was  toward  her,  but  he  saw  her  first,  and 
turned  his  flushed  face  to  meet  her,  with  the  sudden 
ligliting  up  it  always  showed  when  she  approached. 

"  I  've  done  it,  Aunt ;  and  now  I  want  Saul  to  post 
the  letter,  so  we  can  get  a  speedj^  answer." 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  hitch  up,  cousin  ; "  and  Saul 
pitched  in  his  last  log,  looking  ready  to  put  a  girdle 
round  the  earth  in  less  than  forty  minutes. 

*'  Well,  dear,  I  ain't  the  least  mite  of  objection,  as 
long  as  it  pleases  you.     I  guess  we  can  stan'  it  ef  your 


86  PROVERB  STORIES, 

city  folks  can.  I  presume  to  say  things  will  look  kind 
of  sing'lar  to  'em,  but  I  s'pose  that 's  what  they  come 
for.  Idle  folks  do  dreadful  queer  things  to  amuse  'em ; " 
and  Aunt  Plumy  leaned  on  the  rolling-pin  to  smile  and 
nod  with  a  shrewd  twinkle  of  her  ej^e,  as  if  she  enjoyed 
the  prospect  as  much  as  Sophie  did. 

"  I  shall  be  afraid  of  'em,  but  I'll  try  not  to  make 
you  ashamed  of  me,"  said  Ruth,  who  loved  her  charming 
cousin  even  more  than  she  admired  her. 

''  No  fear  of  that,  dear.  They  will  be  the  awkward 
ones,  and  you  must  set  them  at  ease  by  just  being  3'our 
simple  selves,  and  treating  them  as  if  they  were  every- 
day people.  Nell  is  very  nice  and  jolly  when  she  drops 
her  city  ways,  as  she  must  here.  She  will  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  fun  at  once,  and  I  know  j'ou  '11  all  like 
her.  Mr.  Randal  is  rather  the  worse  for  too  much 
praise  and  petting,  as  successful  people  are  apt  to  be, 
so  a  little  plain  talk  and  rough  work  will  do  him  good. 
He  is  a  true  gentleman  in  spite  of  his  airs  and  elegance, 
and  he  will  take  it  all  in  good  part,  if  you  treat  him  like 
a  man  and  not  a  lion." 

"I'll  see  to  him,"  said  Saul,  who  had  listened  with 
great  interest  to  the  latter  part  of  Sophie's  speech,  evi- 
dently suspecting  a  lover,  and  enjoying  the  idea  of  sup- 
plying him  with  a  liberal  amount  of  "  plain  talk  and 
rough  work." 

"I'll  keep  'em  busy  if  that's  what  they  need,  for 
there  will  be  .  sight  to  do,  and  we  can't  get  help  easy 
up  here.  Our  darters  don't  hire  out  much.  "Work  to 
home  till  they  marry,  and  don't  go  gaddin'  'round  gettin' 
their  heads  full  of  foolish  notions,  and  forgettin'  all  tho 
useful  things  their  mothers  taught  'em." 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  87 

Aunt  Plumy  glanced  at  Huth  as  she  spoke,  and  a 
sudden  color  in  the  giiTs  cheeks  proved  that  the  words 
hit  certain  ambitious  fancies  of  this  pretty  daughter  of 
the  house  of  Basset. 

"  They  shall  do  their  parts  and  not  be  a  trouble  ;  I  '11 
see  to  that,  for  you  certainly  are  the  dearest  aunt  in  the 
world  to  let  me  take  possession  of  you  and  yours  in 
this  way,"  cried  Sophie,  embracing  the  old  lady  with 
warmth. 

Saul  wished  the  embrace  could  be  returned  by  proxy, 
as  his  mother's  hands  were  too  floury  to  do  more  than 
hover  aflectionately  round  the  delicate  face  that  looked 
so  fresh  and  young  beside  her  wrinkled  one.  As  it 
could  not  be  done,  he  fled  temptation  and  "  hitched  up  " 
without  delay. 

The  three  women  laid  their  heads  together  in  his  ab- 
sence, and  Sophie's  plan  grew  apace,  for  Ruth  longed 
to  see  a  real  novelist  and  a  fine  lady,  and  Aunt  Plumy, 
having  plans  of  her  own  to  further,  said  "  Yes,  dear," 
to  every  suggestion. 

Great  was  the  arranging  and  adorning  that  went  on 
that  day  in  the  old  farmhouse,  for  Sophie  wanted  her 
friends  to  enjoy  this  taste  of  country  pleasures,  and 
knew  just  what  additions  would  be  indispensable  to  their 
comfort ;  what  simple  ornaments  would  be  in  keeping 
with  the  rustic  stage  on  which  she  meant  to  play  the 
part  of  prima  donna. 

Next  day  a  telegram  arrived  accepting  the  invitation, 
for  both  the  lady  and  the  lion.  They  would  arrive  that 
afternoon,  as  little  preparation  was  needed  for  this 
impromptu  journey,  the  novelty  of  which  was  its  chief 
charm  to  these  blase  people. 


88  PROVERB  STORIES. 

Saul  wanted  to  get  out  the  double  sleigh  and  span, 
for  he  prided  himself  on  his  horses,  and  a  fall  of  snow 
came  most  opportune!}"  to  beautify  the  landscape  and 
add  a  new  pleasure  to  Christmas  festivities. 

But  Sophie  declared  that  the  old  3"ellow  sleigh,  with 
Punch,  the  farm-horse,  must  be  used,  as  she  wished 
everj'thing  to  be  in  keeping ;  and  Saul  obeyed,  thinking 
he  had  never  seen  anything  prettier  than  his  cousin 
when  she  appeared  in  his  mother's  old-fashioned  camlet 
cloak  and  blue  silk  pumpkin  hood.  He  looked  remark- 
ably well  himself  in  his  fur  coat,  with  hair  and  beard 
brushed  till  they  shone  like  spun  gold,  a  fresh  color  in 
his  cheek,  and  the  sparkle  of  amusement  in  his  eyes, 
while  excitement  gave  his  usuall}'  grave  face  the  anima- 
tion it  needed  to  be  handsome. 

Away  they  jogged  in  the  creaking  old  sleigh,  leaving 
Ruth  to  make  herself  pretty,  with  a  fluttering  heart,  and 
Aunt  Plumy  to  dish  up  a  late  dinner  fit  to  tempt  the 
most  fastidious  appetite. 

"  She  has  not  come  for  us,  and  there  is  not  even  a 
stage  to  take  us  up.  There  must  be  some  mistake," 
said  Emily  Herrick,  as  she  looked  about  the  shabby 
little  station  where  they  were  set  down. 

"  That  is  the  never-to-be-forgotten  face  of  our  fair 
fiiend,  but  the  bonnet  of  her  grandmother,  if  m}"  eyes 
do  not  deceive  me,"  answered  Randal,  turning  to  survc}' 
the  couple  approaching  in  the  rear. 

"  Sophie  Vaughan,  what  do  3'ou  mean  by  making 
such  a  guy  of  3'ourself  ?  "  exclaimed  Emil^^,  as  she  kissed 
the  smiling  face  in  the  hood  and  stared  at  the  quaint 
cloak. 

"I'm  dressed  for  my  part,  and  I  intend  to  keep  it 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  89 

lip.  This  is  our  host,  mj^  cousin,  Saul  Basset.  Come 
to  the  sleigh  at  once,  he  will  see  to  your  luggage,"  said 
Sophie,  painfully  conscious  of  the  antiquity  of  her  array 
as  her  e3'es  rested  on  Emily's  pretty  hat  and  mantle, 
and  the  masculine  elegance  of  Randal's  wraps. 

The}^  were  hardl}'  tucked  in  when  Saul  appeared  with 
a  valise  in  one  hand  and  a  large  trunk  on  his  shoulder, 
swinging  both  on  to  a  wood-sled  that  stood  near  by  as 
easil}^  as  if  they  had  been  hand-bags. 

"  That  is  your  hero,  is  it?  Well,  he  looks  it,  calm 
and  comely,  taciturn  and  tall,"  said  Emily,  in  a  tone  of 
approbation. 

' '  He  should  have  been  named  Samson  or  Gohath ; 
though  I  believe  it  was  the  small  man  who  slung  things 
about  and  turned  out  the  hero  in  the  end,"  added  Ran- 
dal, surveying  the  performance  with  interest  and  a 
touch  of  envy,  for  much  pen  work  had  made  his  own 
hands  as  delicate  as  a  woman's. 

"  Saul  does  n't  live  in  a  glass  house,  so  stones  won't 
hurt  him.  Remember  sarcasm  is  forbidden  and  sin- 
cerit}^  the  order  of  the  day.  You  are  country  folks 
now,  and  it  will  do  you  good  to  try  their  simple,  honest 
waj's  for  a  few  days." 

Sophie  had  no  time  to  say  more,  for  Saul  came  up  and 
drove  off  with  the  brief  remark  that  the  baggage  would 
"  be  along  right  away." 

Being  hungry,  cold  and  tired,  the  guests  were  rather 
silent  during  the  short  drive,  but  Aunt  Plumy's  hospita- 
ble welcome,  and  the  savory  fumes  of  the  dinner  await' 
ing  them,  thawed  the  ice  and  won  their  hearts  at  once. 

"  Is  n't  it  nice  ?  Are  n't  3'ou  glad  you  came  ? '"  asked 
Sophie,  as  she  led  her  friends  into  the  parlor,  which  she 


90  PROVERB  STORIES. 

had  redeemed  from  its  primness  by  putting  bright  chintz 
curtains  to  the  windows,  hemlock  boughs  over  the  old 
portraits,  a  china  bowl  of  flowers  on  the  table,  and  a 
splendid  fire  on  the  wide  hearth. 

"It  is  perfectl}^  jolly,  and  this  is  the  wa}'  I  begin  to 
enjoy  myself,"  answered  Emily,  sitting  down  upon  the 
home-made  rug,  whose  red  flannel  roses  bloomed  in  a 
blue  list  basket. 

"  If  I  may  add  a  little  smoke  to  your  glorious  fire,  it 
will  be  quite  perfect.  Won't  Samson  join  me  ?  "  asked 
Randal,  waiting  for  permission,  cigar-case  in  hand. 

"  He  has  no  small  vices,  but  you  may  indulge  3'ours," 
answered  Sophie,  from  the  depths  of  a  grandmotherly 
chair. 

Emil}^  glanced  up  at  her  friend  as  if  she  caught  a  new 
tone  in  her  voice,  then  turned  to  the  fire  again  with  a 
wise  little  nod,  as  if  confiding  some  secret  to  the  reflec- 
tion of  herself  in  the  bright  brass  andiron. 

"  His  Delilah  does  not  take  this  form.  I  wait  with 
Interest  to  discover  if  he  has  one.  What  a  daisy  the 
sister  is.  Does  she  ever  speak?"  asked  Randal,  trying 
to  lounge  on  the  haircloth  sofa,  where  he  was  slipping 
uncomfortably  about. 

"  Oh  yes,  and  sings  like  a  bird.  You  shall  hear  her 
when  she  gets  over  her  shyness.  But  no  trifling,  mind 
you,  for  it  is  a  jealousl}"  guarded  daisy  and  not  to  be 
picked  b}^  any  idle  hand,"  said  Sophie  w\arningly,  as 
she  recalled  Ruth's  blushes  and  Randal's  compliments 
at  dinner. 

"  I  should  expect  to  be  annihilated  by  the  big  brother 
if  I  attempted  any  but  the  '  sincerest '  admiration  and 
respect.     Have  no  fears  on  that  score,  but  tell  us  what 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  91 

is  to  follow  this  superb  dinner.  An  apple  bee,  spinning 
match,  husking  party,  or  primitive  pastime  of  some 
sort,  I  have  no  doubt." 

' '  As  3'ou  are  new  to  our  ways  I  am  going  to  let  you 
rest  this  evening.  We  will  sit  about  the  fire  and  tell 
stories.  Aunt  is  a  master  hand  at  that,  and  Saul  has 
reminiscences  of  the  war  that  are  well  worth  hearing  if 
we  can  only  get  him  to  tell  them." 

"  Ah,  he  was  there,  was  he? " 

"  Yes,  all  through  it,  and  is  Major  Basset,  though  he 
likes  his  plain  name  best.  He  fought  splendidl}^  and 
had  several  wounds,  though  onl}^  a  mere  boy  when  he 
earned  his  scars  and  bars.  I  'm  very  proud  of  him  for 
that,"  and  Sophie  looked  so  as  she  glanced  at  the  photo- 
graph of  a  stripling  in  uniform  set  in  the  place  of  honor 
on  the  high  mantel-piece. 

"  We  must  stir  him  up  and  hear  these  martial  memo- 
ries. I  want  some  new  incidents,  and  shall  book  all  I 
can  get,  if  I  may." 

Here  Randal  was  interrupted  bj^  Saul  himself,  who 
came  in  with  an  armful  of  wood  for  the  fire. 

"  Anj^thing  more  I  can  do  for  3^ou,  cousin  ?  "  he  asked, 
surveying  the  scene  with  a  rather  wistful  look. 

"  Onl}^  come  and  sit  with  us  and  talk  over  war  times 
with  Mr.  Randal." 

''  When  I've  foddered  the  cattle  and  done  my  chores 
I  'd  be  pleased  to.  What  regiment  were  you  in  ?  "  asked 
Saul,  looking  down  from  his  lofty  height  upon  the  slen- 
der gentleman,  who  answered  briefl\^,  — 

"  In  none.     I  was  abroad  at  the  time." 

"Sick?" 

*'  No,  busy  with  a  novel." 

"  Took  four  3'ears  to  write  it?  " 


92  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  travel  and  stud}"  before  I  could 
finish  it.  These  things  take  more  time  to  work  up  than 
outsiders  would  believe." 

"  Seems  to  me  our  war  was  a  finer  stor}'  than  any 
you  could  find  in  Europe,  and  the  best  wa}'  to  study  it 
would  be  to  fight  it  out.  If  you  want  heroes  and  hero- 
ines you  'd  have  found  plenty  of 'em  there." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  and  shall  be  glad  to  atone 
for  my  seeming  neglect  of  them  by  hearing  about  your 
own  exploits,  Major." 

Randal  hoped  to  turn  the  conversation  gracefully , 
but  Saul  was  not  to  be  caught,  and  left  the  room,  sa}'- 
ing,  with  a  gleam  of  fun  in  his  e^'e,  — 

"  I  can't  stop  now  ;  heroes  can  wait,  pigs  can't." 

The  girls  laughed  at  this  sudden  descent  from  the 
sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  and  Randal  joined  them,  feel- 
ing his  condescension  had  not  been  unobserved. 

As  if  drawn  by  the  merry  sound  Aunt  Plumy  ap- 
peared, and  being  established  in  the  rocking-chair  fell  to 
talking  as  easily  as  if  she  had  known  her  guests  for  years. 

"  Laugh  away,  young  folks,  that's  better  for  diges- 
tion than  an}^  of  the  messes  people  use.  Are  you 
troubled  with  dyspeps}",  dear?  You  didn't  seem  to 
take  3'our  vittles  very  heart}",  so  I  mistrusted  you  was 
delicate,"  she  said,  looking  at  Emily,  whose  pale  cheeks 
and  weary  eyes  told  the  story  of  late  hours  and  a  gay 
Ufe. 

"I  haven't  eaten  so  much  for  years,  I  assure  you, 
Mrs.  Basset ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  taste  all  your 
good  things.  I  am  not  dyspeptic,  thank  you,  but  a 
little  seedy  and  tired,  for  I  've  been  working  rather  hard 
lately." 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  93 

"Be  you  a  teacher?  or  have  3'ou  a  '  perfcssun,'  as 
they  call  a  trade  nowada3's  ? "  asked  the  old  lady  in  a 
tone  of  kindly  interest,  which  prevented  a  laugh  at  the 
idea  of  Emily's  being  anything  but  a  beauty  and  a  belle. 
The  others  kept  their  countenances  with  difficulty,  and 
she  answered  demurely,  — 

' '  I  have  no  trade  as  yet,  but  I  dare  say  I  should  be 
happier  if  I  had." 

"  Not  a  doubt  on 't,  my  dear." 

"What  would  you  recommend,  ma'am?" 

"I  should  say  dressmakin'  was  rather  in  your  line, 
ain't  it.  Your  clothes  is  dreadful  tasty,  and  do  you 
credit  if  you  made  'em  j^ourself,"  and  Aunt  Plumy  sur- 
veyed with  feminine  interest  the  simple  elegance  of  the 
travelling  dress  which  was  the  masterpiece  of  a  French 
modiste. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't  make  my  own  things,  I'm  too 
lazy.  It  takes  so  much  time  and  trouble  to  select  them 
that  I  have  only  strength  left  to  wear  them." 

"  Housekeepin'  used  to  be  the  favorite  perfessun  in 
my  day.  It  ain't  fashionable  now,  but  it  needs  a  sight 
of  trainin'  to  be  perfect  in  all  that's  required,  and  I  've 
an  idee  it  would  be  a  sight  healthier  and  usefuller  than 
the  paintin'  and  music  and  fancy  w^ork  young  women 
do  nowadays." 

"  But  every  one  wants  some  beauty  in  their  hves,  and 
each  one  has  a  different  sphere  to  fill,  if  one  can  only 
find  it." 

"  '  Pears  to  me  there  's  no  call  for  so  much  art  when 
nater  is  full  of  beauty  for  them  that  can  see  and  love 
it.  As  for  '  spears  '  and  so  on,  I  've  a  notion  if  each  of 
us  did  up  our  own  little  chores  smart  and  thorough  we 


94  PROVERB   STORIES. 

need  n't  go  wanderin'  round  to  set  the  world  to  rights. 
That 's  the  Lord's  job,  and  I  presume  to  say  He  can  do 
it  without  any  advice  of  ouru." 

Something  in  the  homelj^  but  true  words  seemed  to 
rebuke  the  three  Usteners  for  wasted  Uves,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  no  sound  but  the  crackle  of  the  fire, 
the  brisk  click  of  the  old  lady's  knitting  needles,  and 
Ruth's  voice  singing  overhead  as  she  made  ready  to  join 
the  party  below. 

''  To  judge  by  that  sweet  sound  you  have  done  one 
of  your  '  chores '  very  beautifully,  Mrs.  Basset,  and  in 
spite  of  the  follies  of  our  day,  succeeded  in  keeping  one 
girl  healthy,  happy  and  unspoiled,"  said  Emily,  looking 
up  into  the  peaceful  old  face  with  her  own  lovely  one 
full  of  respect  and  envy. 

"  I  do  hope  so,  for  she  's  my  ewe  lamb,  the  last  of  four 
dear  little  girls ;  all  the  rest  are  in  the  burying  ground 
'side  of  father.  I  don't  expect  to  keep  her  long, 
and  don't  ought  to  regret  when  I  lose  her,  for  Saul  is 
the  best  of  sons  ;  but  daughters  is  more  to  mothers 
somehow,  and  I  always  yearn  over  girls  that  is  left 
without  a  broodin'  wing  to  keep  'em  safe  and  warm  in 
this  world  of  tribulation." 

Aunt  Plumy  laid  her  hand  on  Sophie's  head  as  she 
spoke,  with  such  a  motherly  look  that  both  girls  drew 
nearer,  and  Randal  resolved  to  put  her  in  a  book  with- 
out delay. 

Presently  Saul  returned  with  little  Ruth  hanging  on 
his  arm  and  shyly  nestling  near  him  as  he  took  the  three- 
cornered  leathern  chair  in  the  chimney  nook,  while  she 
sat  on  a  stool  close  b3\ 

''Now  the  circle  is  complete  and  the  picture  perfect. 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  95 

Don't  light  the  lamps  yet,  please,  but  talk  away  and  let 
me  make  a  mental  study  of  you.  I  seldom  find  so 
cliarming  a  scene  to  paint,"  said  Randal,  beginning  to 
enjo}^  himself  immensel}',  with  a  true  artist's  taste  for 
novelty  and  effect. 

"  Tell  us  about  your  book,  for  we  have  been  reading  it 
as  it  comes  out  in  the  magazine,  and  are  much  exercised 
about  how  it 's  going  to  end,"  began  Saul,  gallantly  throw- 
ing himself  into  the  breach,  for  a  momentary  embarrass- 
ment fell  upon  the  women  at  the  idea  of  sitting  for  their 
portraits  before  the}'  were  read}'. 

"  Do  you  really  read  my  poor  serial  up  here,  and  do 
me  the  honor  to  like  it?  "  asked  the  novelist,  both  flat- 
tered and  amused,  for  his  work  was  of  the  aesthetic  sort, 
microscopic  studies  of  character,  and  careful  pictures  of 
modern  life. 

"  Sakes  alive,  why  shouldn't  we,"  cried  Aunt  Plumy. 
"  We  have  some  eddication,  though  we  ain't  very  gen- 
teel. We  've  got  a  town  libr}-,  kep  up  b}-  the  women 
mostly,  with  fairs  and  tea  parties  and  so  on.  We  have 
all  the  magazines  reg'lar,  ^and  Saul  reads  out  the  pieces 
while  Ruth  sews  and  I  knit,  my  e3'es  bein'  poor.  Our 
winter  is  long  and  evenins  would  be  kinder  lonesome  if 
we  did  n't  haA^e  novils  and  newspapers  to  cheer  'em 
up." 

"  I  am  very  glad  I  can  help  to  beguile  them  for  3'ou. 
Now  tell  me  what  you  honestly  think  of  m}'  work? 
Criticism  is  always  valuable,  and  I  should  really  like 
3'ours,  Mrs.  Basset,"  said  Randal,  wondering  what  the 
good  woman  would  make  of  the  delicate  anal3'sis  and 
worldl}'  wisdom  on  which  he  prided  himself. 

Short  work,  as  Aunt  Plum}'  soon  showed  him,  for  she 


96  PROVERB   STORIES. 

rfither  enjoj'ed  freeing  her  mind  at  all  times,  and  de- 
cidedl}'  resented  the  insinuation  that  countr}'  folk  could 
not  appreciate  light  literature  as  well  as  cit}^  people. 

"I  ain't  no  great  of  a  jedge  about  anything  but 
nat'ralness  of  books,  and  it  reall}'  does  seem  as  if  some 
of  your  men  and  women  was  dreadful  uncomfortable 
creaters.  'Pears  to  me  it  ain't  wise  to  be  always  pickin' 
ourselves  to  pieces  and  pryin'  into  things  that  ought  to 
come  gradual  by  way  of  experience  and  the  visitations 
of  Providence.  Flowers  won't  blow  worth  a  cent  ef  3'ou 
pull  'em  open.  Better  wait  and  see  what  Wi^y  can  do 
alone.  I  do  relish  the  smart  sayins,  the  odd  ways  of 
furrin  parts,  and  the  sarcastic  slaps  at  folkses  weak 
spots.  But,  massy  knows,  we  can't  live  on  spice-cake 
and  Charlotte  Ruche,  and  I  do  feel  as  if  books  was 
more  sustainin'  ef  they  was  full  of  ever3'-day  people  and 
things,  like  good  bread  and  butter.  Them  that  goes  to 
the  heart  and  ain't  soon  forgotten  is  the  kind  I  hanker 
for.  Mis  Terrj^'s  books  now,  and  Mis  Stowe's,  and 
Dickens's  Christmas  pieces,  —  them  is  real  sweet  and 
cheerin',  to  m}^  mind." 

As  the  blunt  old  lad}^  paused  it  was  evident  she  had 
produced  a  sensation,  for  Saul  smiled  at  the  fire,  Ruth 
looked  dismayed  at  this  assault  upon  one  of  her  idols, 
and  the  .young  ladies  were  both  astonished  and  amused 
at  the  keenness  of  the  new  critic  who  dared  express 
what  they  had  often  felt.  Randal,  however,  was  quite 
composed  and  laughed  good-naturedly,  though  secretly 
feeling  as  if  a  pail  of  cold  water  had  been  poured  over 
him. 

''Man}"  thanks,  madam;  you  have  discovered  my 
weak  point  with  surprising  accuracy.      But  you  see  I 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  97 

cannot  help  '  picking  folks  to  pieces,'  as  j'ou  have  ex- 
pressed it ;  that  is  ni}'  gift,  and  it  has  its  attractions, 
as  the  sale  of  my  books  will  testify.  People  like  the 
'  spice-bread,'  and  as  that  is  the  only  sort  my  oven  will 
bake,  I  must  keep  on  in  order  to  make  my  living." 

"  So  rumsellers  say,  but  it  ain't  a  good  trade  to  foUer, 
and  I  'd  chop  wood  'fore  I  'd  earn  my  livin'  harmin'  my 
feller  man.  'Pears  to  me  I  'd  let  my  oven  cool  a  spell, 
and  hunt  up  some  homelj',  happ}'  folks  to  write  about ; 
folks  that  don't  borrer  trouble  and  go  lookin'  for  holes 
in  their  neighbors'  coats,  but  take  their  lives  brave  and 
cheerful ;  and  rememberin'  we  are  all  human,  have  pity 
on  the  weak,  and  try  to  be  as  full  of  mercy,  patience 
and  lovin'  kindness  as  Him  who  made  us.  That  sort 
of  a  book  would  do  a  heap  of  good ;  be  real  warmin' 
and  strengthenin',  and  make  them  that  read  it  love  the 
man  that  wrote  it,  and  remember  him  when  he  was  dead 
and  gone." 

"  I  wish  I  could  !  "  and  Randal  meant  what  he  said, 
for  he  was  as  tired  of  his  own  style,  as  a  watch-maker 
might  be  of  the  magnifying  glass  through  which  he 
strains  his  eyes  all  day.  He  knew  that  the  heart  was 
left  out  of  his  work,  and  that  both  mind  and  soul  were 
growing  morbid  with  dwelling  on  the  fault}-^,  absiuxl  and 
metaphysical  phases  of  life  and  character.  He  often 
threw  down  his  pen  and  vowed  he  would  write  no  more  ; 
but  he  loved  ease  and  the  books  brought  money  readily  ; 
he  was  accustomed  to  the  stimulant  of  praise  and  missed 
it  as  the  toper  misses  his  wine,  so  that  which  had  once 
been  a  pleasure  to  himself  and  others  was  fast  becoming 
a  burden  and  a  disappointment. 

The  brief  pause  which  followed  liis  involuntary  be- 
7 


98  PROVERB   SIORIES, 

trayal  of  discontent  was  broken  by  Ruth,  who  ex- 
claimed, with  a  girlish  enthusiasm  that  overpowered 
girlish  bashfulness,  — 

"  /  think  all  the  novels  are  splendid  !  I  hope  you 
will  write  hundreds  more,  and  I  shall  live  to  read 
'em." 

"  Bravo,  my  gentle  champion  !  I  promise  that  I  will 
write  one  more  at  least,  and  have  a  heroine  in  it  whom 
3'our  mother  will  both  admire  and  love,"  answered  Ran- 
dal, surprised  to  find  how  grateful  he  was  for  the  girl's 
approval,  and  how  rapidlj'  his  trained  fancy  began  to 
paint  the  background  on  which  he  hoped  to  copy  this 
fresh,  human  daisy. 

Abashed  by  her  involuntary  outburst,  Ruth  tried  to 
efface  herself  behind  Saul's  broad  shoulder,  and  he 
brought  the  conversation  back  to  its  starting-point  by 
saying  in  a  tone  of  the  most  sincere  interest,  — 

' '  Speaking  of  the  serial,  I  am  very  anxious  to  know 
how  3'our  hero  comes  out.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  I 
can't  decide  whether  he  is  going  to  spoil  his  life  marry- 
ing that  silly  woman,  or  do  something  grand  and  gener- 
ous, and  not  be  made  a  fool  of." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know  m3'self.  It  is  very 
hard  to  find  new  finales.  Can't  you  suggest  something, 
Major?  then  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  leave  my  stor}^ 
without  an  end,  as  people  complain  I  am  rather  fond  of 
doing." 

''Well,  no,  I  don't  think  I've  anything  to  oflfer. 
Seems  to  me  it  is  n't  the  sensational  exploits  that  show 
the  hero  best,  but  some  great  sacrifice  quietl3'  made  by 
a  connnon  sort  of  man  who  is  noble  without  knowing 
it.     1  saw  a  good  many  such  during  the  war,  and  oftci: 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  99 

wish  I  could  write  them  down,  for  it  is  surprising  how 
much  courage,  goodness  and  real  piety  is  stowed  awa}' 
in  common  folks  ready  to  show  when  the  right  time 
comes." 

"  Tell  us  one  of  them,  and  I  '11  bless  3'ou  for  a  hint. 
No  one  knows  the  anguish  of  an  author's  spii'it  when  he 
can't  ring  down  the  curtain  on  an  effective  tableau,'' 
said  Randal,  with  a  glance  at  his  friends  to  ask  their  aid 
in  eliciting  an  anecdote  or  reminiscence. 

"  Tell  about  the  splendid  fellow  who  held  the  bridge, 
like  Horatius,  till  help  came  up.  That  was  a  thrilling 
stor}^,  I  assure  you,"  answered  Sophie,  with  an  inviting 
smile. 

But  Saul  would  not  be  his  own  hero,  and  said  brieflj' : 

' '  Any  man  can  be  brave  when  the  battle-fever  is  on 
him,  and  it  only  takes  a  little  ph3'sical  courage  to  dash 
ahead."  He  paused  a  moment,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
snowy  landscape  without,  where  twilight  was  deepening ; 
then,  as  if  constrained  by  the  memory  that  winter  scene 
evoked,  he  slowly  continued, — 

"  One  of  the  bravest  things  I  ever  knew  was  done  by 
a  poor  fellow  who  has  been  a  hero  to  me  ever  since, 
though  I  only  met  him  that  night.  It  was  after  one  of 
the  big  battles  of  that  last  winter,  and  I  was  knocked 
over  with  a  broken  leg  and  two  or  three  bullets  here  and 
there.  Night  was  coming  on,  snow  falling,  and  a  sharp 
wind  blew  over  the  field  where  a  lot  of  us  lay,  dead  and 
alive,  waiting  for  the  ambulance  to  come  and  pick  us 
up.  There  was  skirmishing  going  on  not  far  off,  and 
our  prospects  were  rather  poor  between  frost  and  fire. 
I  was  calculating  how  I  'd  manage,  when  I  found  two 
poor  chaps  close  by  who  were  worse  off,  so  I  braced  up 


100  PROVERB   STORIES. 

and  did  what  I  could  for  them.  One  had  an  ann  hlown 
away,  and  kept  up  a  dreadful  groaning.  The  other  was 
shot  bad,  and  bleeding  to  death  for  want  of  help,  but 
never  complained.  He  was  nearest,  and  I  liked  his 
pluck,  for  he  spoke  cheerful  and  made  me  ashamed  to 
growl.  Such  times  make  dreadful  brutes  of  men  if  they 
have  n't  something  to  hold  on  to,  and  all  three  of  us 
w^ere  most  wild  with  pain  and  cold  and  hunger,  for  we  'd 
fought  ail  day  fasting,  when  we  heard  a  rumble  in  the 
road  below,  and  saw  lanterns  bobbing  round.  That 
meant  life  to  us,  and  we  all  tried  to  holler ;  two  of  us 
were  pretty  faint,  but  I  managed  a  good  yell,  and  they 
heard  it. 

"  '  Room  for  one  more.  Hard  luck,  old  bo3's,  but  we 
are  full  and  must  save  the  worst  wounded  first.  Take 
a  drink;  and  hold  on  till  we  come  back/  says  one  of 
them  with  the  stretcher. 

"  'Here's  the  one  to  go,'  I  says,  pointin'  out  ni}' 
man,  for  I  saw  by  the  light  that  he  was  hard  hit. 

*'  '  No,  that  one.  He  's  got  more  chances  than  I,  or 
this  one  ;  he  's  3"0ung  and  got  a  mother  ;  I  '11  wait,'  said 
the  good  feller,  touchin'  my  arm.,  for  he  'd  heard  me 
mutterin'  to  myself  about  this  dear  old  lad3^  We 
alwaj^s  want  mother  when  we  are  down,  you  know." 

Saul's  eyes  turned  to  the  beloved  face  with  a  glance 
of  tenderest  affection,  and  Aunt  Plunw  answered  with  a 
dismal  groan  at  the  recollection  of  his  need  that  night, 
and  her  absence. 

"  Well,  to  be  short,  the  groaning  chap  was  taken, 
and  m}'  man  left.  I  was  mad,  but  there  w^as  no  time 
for  talk,  and  the  selfish  one  went  off  and  left  that  poor 
feller  to  run  his  one  chance.    I  had  my  rifle,  and  guessed 


A    COUNTRY   CHRISTMAS.  101 

I  could  hobble  np  to  use  it  if  need  be ;  so  we  settled 
back  to  wait  without  much  hope  of  help,  everything 
being  in  a  muddle.  And  w^ait  we  did  till  morning,  for 
that  ambulance  did  not  come  back  till  next  daj^,  when 
most  of  us  were  past  needing  it. 

"Ill  never  forget  that  night.  I  dream  it  all  over 
again  as  plain  as  if  it  was  real.  Snow,  cold,  darkness, 
hunger,  thirst,  pain,  and  all  round  us  cries  and  cursing 
growing  less  and  less,  till  at  last  only  the  wind  went 
moaning  over  that  meadow.  It  was  awful !  so  lone- 
some, helpless,  and  seeminglj'  God-forsaken.  Hour 
after  hour  we  lay  there  side  b}^  side  under  one  coat, 
waiting  to  be  saved  or  die,  for  the  wind  grew  strong  and 
we  grew  weak." 

Saul  drew  a  long  breath,  and  held  his  hands  to  the 
fire  as  if  he  felt  again  the  sharp  suffering  of  that  night. 

"  And  the  man?  "  asked  Emily,  softl^',  as  if  reluctant 
to  break  the  silence. 

"  He  was  a  man  !  In  times  like  that  men  talk  like 
brothers  and  show  what  they  are.  Lying  there,  slowly 
freezing,  Joe  Cummings  told  me  about  his  wife  and 
babies,  his  old  folks  waiting  for  him,  all  depending  on 
him,  yet  all  read}^  to  give  him  up  when  he  was  needed. 
A  plain  man,  but  honest  and  true,  and  loving  as  a 
woman  ;  I  soon  saw  that  as  he  went  on  talking,  half  to 
me  and  half  to  himself,  for  sometimes  he  wandered  a 
little  toward  the  end.  I  've  read  books,  heard  sermons, 
and  seen  good  folks,  but  nothing  ever  came  so  close  or 
did  me  so  much  good  as  seeing  this  man  die.  He  had 
one  chance  and  gave  it  cheerfully.  He  longed  for  those 
he  loved,  and  let  'em  go  with  a  good-by  they  could  n't 
hear.     He  suffered  all  the  pains  we  most  shrink  from 


102  PROVERB   STORIES. 

without  a  murmur,  and  kept  my  heart  warm  while  his 
own  was  growing  cold.  It 's  no  use  trying  to  tell  that 
part  of  it;  but  I  heard  prayers  that  night  thf^t  meant 
something,  and  I  saw  how  faith  could  hold  a  soul  up 
when  everything  was  gone  but  God." 

Saul  stopped  there  with  a  sudden  huskiness  in  his 
deep  voice,  and  when  he  went  on  it  was  in  the  tone  of 
one  who  speaks  of  a  dear  friend. 

"  Joe  grew  still  by  and  b}^,  and  I  thought  he  was 
asleep,  for  I  felt  his  breath  when  I  tucked  him  up,  and 
his  hand  held  on  to  mine.  The  cold  sort  of  numbed 
me,  and  I  dropped  off,  too  weak  and  stupid  to  think  or 
feel.  I  never  should  have  waked  up  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  Joe.  When  I  came  to,  it  was  morning,  and  I 
thought  I  was  dead,  for  all  I  could  see  was  that  great 
field  of  white  mounds,  like  graves,  and  a  splendid 
sky  above.  Then  I  looked  for  Joe,  remembering; 
but  he  had  put  my  coat  back  over  me,  and  lay  stiff'  and 
still  under  the  snow  that  covered  him  like  a  shroud,  all 
except  his  face.  A  bit  of  m}^  cape  had  blown  over  it, 
and  when  I  took  it  off'  and  the  sun  shone  on  his  dead 
face,  I  declare  to  you  it  was  so  full  of  heavenl}^  peace  I 
felt  as  if  that  common  man  had  been  glorified  b}-  God's 
light,  and  rewarded  by  God's  '  Well  done.'    That 's  all." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  while  the  women  wiped 
their  eyes,  and  Saul  dropped  his  as  if  to  hide  something 
softer  than  tears. 

*'  It  was  very  noble,  very  touching.  And  you?  "  how 
did  you  get  off*  at  last?  "  asked  Randal,  with  real  admi- 
ration and  respect  in  his  usually  languid  face. 

"  Crawled  off',"  answered  Saul,  relapsing  into  his 
former  brevity  of  speech. 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  103 

'*  Why  not  before,  and  save  yourself  all  that  mis- 
ery?" 

"  Could  n't  leave  Joe." 

''  Ah,  I  see  ;  there  were  two  heroes  that  night." 

"Dozens,  I've  no  doubt.  Those  w^ere  times  that 
made  heroes  of  men,  and  women,  too." 

"  Tell  us  more ;  "  begged  Emily,  looking  up  with  an 
expression  none  of  her  admirers  ever  brought  to  her  face 
by  their  softest  compliments  or  wiliest  gossip. 

"  I  've  done  my  part.  It 's  Mr.  Randal's  turn  now  ;  " 
and  Saul  drew  himself  out  of  the  I'uddy  circle  of  fire- 
light, as  if  ashamed  of  the  prominent  part  he  was  play- 
ing. 

Sophie  and  her  friend  had  often  heard  Randal  talk, 
for  he  was  an  accomplished  raconteur^  but  that  night  he 
exerted  himself,  and  was  unusually  brilliant  and  enter- 
taining, as  if  upon  his  mettle.  The  Bassets  were 
charmed.  They  sat  late  and  w^ere  very  merr}^,  for  Aunt 
Plum}^  got  up  a  little  supper  for  them,  and  her  cider  was 
as  exhilarating  as  champagne.  When  they  parted  for 
the  night  and  Sophie  kissed  her  aunt,  Emily  did  the 
same,  saving  heartil}^,  — 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  'd  known  you  all  my  life,  and  this 
is  certainl}^  the  most  enchanting  old  place  that  ever 
was." 

"  Glad  you  like  it,  dear.  But  it  ain't  all  fun,  as  you  '11 
find  out  to-morrow  when  you  go  to  work,  for  Sophie 
sa3's  3'ou  must,"  answered  Mrs.  Basset,  as  her  guests 
trooped  away,  rashly  promising  to  like  everything. 

The}^  found  it  difficult  to  keep  their  w^ord  when  the}^ 
were  called  at  half  past  six  next  morning.  Their  rooms 
were  warm,   however,   and   they   managed  to  scramble 


104  PROVERB  STORIES. 

down  in  time  for  breakfast,  guided  by  the  fragrance  of 
coffee  and  Annt  Phi  my 's  shrill  voice  singing  the  good 
old  hymn  — 

"  Lord,  in  the  morning  Thou  shalt  hear 
My  voice  ascending  high." 

An  open  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  for  the  cooking 
was  done  in  the  lean-to,  and  the  spacious,  sunny  kitchen 
was  kept  in  all  its  old-fashioned  perfection,  with  the 
wooden  settle  in  a  warm  nook,  the  tall  clock  behind  the 
door,  copper  and  pewter  utensils  shining  on  the  dresser, 
old  china  in  the  corner  closet  and  a  little  spinning  wheel 
rescued  from  the  garret  by  Sophie  to  adorn  the  deep 
window,  full  of  scarlet  geraniums,  Christmas  roses,  and 
white  chrysanthemums. 

The  3'oung  lad}-,  in  a  checked  apron  and  mob-cap, 
greeted  her  friends  with  a  dish  of  buckwheats  in  one 
hand,  and  a  pair  of  cheeks  that  proved  she  had  been 
learning  to  fty  these  delectable  cakes. 

"You  do  'keep  it  up'  in  earnest,  upon  m}' word ; 
and  very  becoming  it  is,  dear.  But  won't  3'ou  ruin 
3'our  complexion  and  roughen  3'our  hands  if  j^ou  do  so 
much  of  this  new  fancy-work?"  asked  Emilj',  much 
amazed  at  this  novel  freak. 

"I  like  it,  and  really  believe  I've  found  my  proper 
sphere  at  last.  Domestic  life  seems  so  pleasant  to  me 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  better  keep  it  up  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,"  answered  Soi)hie,  making  a  pretty  picture  of  her- 
self as  she  cut  great  slices  of  brown  bread,  with  the 
earl}'  sunshine  touching  her  happy  face. 

"  The  charming  Miss  Vaughan  in  the  role  of  a  farmer's 
wife.     I  find  it  dillicult  to  imagine,  and  shrink  from  the 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  105 

tliought  of  the  wide-spread  dismay  such  a  fate  will  pro- 
duce among  her  adorers,"  added  Randal,  as  he  basked 
in  the  glow  of  the  hospitable  fire. 

"  She  might  do  worse  ;  but  come  to  breakfast  and  do 
honor  to  my  handiwork,"  said  Sophie,  thinking  of  her 
worn-out  raillionnaire,  and  rather  nettled  by  the  satiric 
smile  on  Randal's  lips. 

''  What  an  appetite  earlj^  rising  gives  one.  I  feel 
equal  to  almost  anything,  so  let  me  help  wash  cups," 
said  Emily,  with  unusual  energy,  when  the  hearty  meal 
was  over  and  Sophie  began  to  pick  up  the  dishes  as  if 
it  was  her  usual  work. 

Ruth  went  to  the  window  to  water  the  flowers,  and 
Randal  followed  to  make  himself  agreeable,  remember- 
ing her  defence  of  him  last  night.  He  was  used  to 
admiration  from  feminine  eyes,  and  flattery  from  soft 
lips,  but  found  something  new  and  charming  in  the 
innocent  delight  which  showed  itself  at  his  approach  in 
blushes  more  eloquent  than  words,  and  shy  glances  from 
eyes  full  of  hero-worship. 

"  I  hope  you  are  going  to  spare  me  a  posy  for  to- 
morrow night,  since  I  can  be  fine  in  no  other  wa}^  to  do 
honor  to  the  dance  Miss  Sophie  proposes  for  us,''  he  said, 
leaning  in  the  ba}^  window  to  look  down  on  the  little  girl, 
with  the  devoted  air  he  usually  wore  for  pretty  women. 

' '  Anj'thing  you  like  !  I  should  be  so  glad  to  have 
you  wear  my  flowers.  There  will  be  enough  for  all,  and 
I  've  nothing  else  to  give  to  people  who  have  made  me  as 
happ3'  as  cousin  Sophie  and  you,"  answered  Ruth,  half 
drowning  her  great  calla  as  she  spoke  with  grateful 
warmth. 

"You  must  make  her  happy  by  accepting  the  invita- 


106  PROVERB  STORIES. 

tion  to  go  home  with  her  which  I  heard  given  last  night. 
A  peep  at  tlie  world  would  do  you  good,  and  be  a 
pleasant  change,  I  think." 

"Oh,  ver}^  pleasant !  but  would  it  do  me  good?  and 
Ruth  looked  up  with  sudden  seriousness  in  her  blue 
e3X's,  as  a  child  questions  an  elder,  eager,  ^xt  wistful. 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Randal,  wondering  at  the  hesita- 
tion. 

' '  I  nright  grow  discontented  with  things  here  if  I  saw 
splendid  houses  and  fine  people.  I  am  very  happy 
now,  and  it  would  break  my  heart  to  lose  that  happi- 
ness, or  ever  learn  to  be  ashamed  of  home." 

"But  don't  you  long  for  more  pleasure,  new  scenes 
and  other  friends  than  these?  "  asked  the  man,  touched 
by  the  little  creature's  loyalty  to  the  things  she  knew 
and  loved. 

"Very  often,  but  mother  says  when  I'm  ready  the}^ 
will  come,  so  I  wait  and  tr}^  not  to  be  impatient."  But 
Ruth's  eyes  looked  out  over  the  green  leaves  as  if  the 
longing  was  very  strong  within  her  to  see  more  of  the  un- 
known world  Ij'ing  beyond  the  mountains  that  hemmed 
her  in. 

"  It  is  natural  for  birds  to  hop  out  of  the  nest,  so  I 
shall  expect  to  see  you  over  there  before  long,  and  ask 
you  how  you  enjo^^  your  first  flight,"  said  Randal,  in  a 
paternal  tone  tbat  had  a  curious  efl'ect  on  Ruth. 

To  his  surprise,  she  laughed,  then  blushed  like  one 
of  her  own  roses,  and  answered  with  a  demure  dignity 
that  was  very  pretty  to  see. 

"  I  intend  to  hop  soon,  but  it  won't  be  a  very  long 
flight  or  very  far  from  mother.  She  can't  spare  me, 
and  nobody  in  the  world  can  fill  her  place  to  me." 


A   COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  107 

*'  Bless  the  child,  does  she  think  I'm  goiiis;  to  make 
love  to  her,"  thought  Randal,  much  amused,  but  quite 
mistaken.  Wiser  women  had  thought  so  when  he  as- 
sumed the  caressing  air  with  which  he  beguiled  them 
into  the  little  revelations  of  character  he  liked  to  use, 
as  the  south  wind  makes  flowers  open  their  hearts  to 
give  up  their  odor,  then  leaves  them  to  cany  it  else- 
where, the  more  welcome  for  the  stolen  sweetness. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  The  maternal  wing  is  a 
safe  shelter  for  confiding  little  souls  like  you.  Miss 
Ruth.  You  will  be  as  comfortable  here  as  your  flowers 
in  this  sunny  window,"  he  said,  carelessly  pinching 
geranium  leaves,  and  ruflfling  the  roses  till  the  pink 
petals  of  the  largest  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

As  if  she  instinctively  felt  and  resented  something  in 
the  man  which  his  act  sj'mbolized,  the  girl  answered 
quietly,  as  she  went  on  with  her  work,  "Yes,  if  the 
frost  does  not  touch  me,  or  careless  people  spoil  me  too 
soon." 

Before  Randal  could  reply  Aunt  Plum}"  approached 
like  a  maternal  hen  who  sees  her  chicken  in  danger. 

"Saul  is  goin'  to  haul  wood  after  he's  done  his 
chores,  mebbe  you'd  like  to  go  along?  The  view  is 
good,  the  roads  well  broke,  and  the  da}"  uncommon 
fine." 

"  Thanks  ;  it  will  be  delightful,  I  dare  say,"  politely 
responded  the  lion,  with  a  secret  shudder  at  the  idea  of 
a  rural  promenade  at  8  a.  m.  in  the  winter. 

"  Come  on,  then  ;  we'll  feed  the  stock,  and  then  I'll 
show  you  how  to  yoke  oxen,"  said  Saul,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye  as  he  led  the  way,  when  his  new  aide  had 
muffled  himself  up  as  if  for  a  polar  voyage. 


108  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"Now,  that's  too  bad  of  Saul!  He  did  it  on  pur« 
pose,  just  to  please  you,  Sophie,"  cried  Ruth  presently, 
and  the  giris  ran  to  the  window  to  behold  Randal 
bravel}^  following  his  host  with  a  pail  of  pigs'  food  in 
each  hand,  and  an  expression  of  resigned  disgust  upon 
his  aristocratic  face. 

"  To  what  base  uses  ma}' we  come,"  quoted  Emilj^, 
as  they  all  nodded  and  smiled  upon  the  victim  as  he 
looked  back  from  the  barn-3'ard,  where  he  was  clam- 
orously welcomed  b}'  his  new  charges. 

"  It  is  rather  a  shock  at  first,  but  it  will  do  him  good, 
and  Saul  won't  be  too  hard  upon  him,  I  'm  sure,"  said 
Sophie,  going  back  to  her  work,  while  Ruth  turned  her 
best  buds  to  the  sun  that  they  might  be  ready  for  a 
peace-offering  to-morrow. 

There  was  a  merry  clatter  in  the  big  kitchen  for  an 
hour ;  then  Aunt  Plum}^  and  her  daughter  shut  them- 
selves up  in  the  pantrj'  to  perform  some  culinary  rites, 
and  the  young  ladies  went  to  inspect  certain  antique 
costumes  laid  forth  in  Sophie's  room. 

"  You  see,  Em,  I  thought  it  would  be  appropriate  to 
the  house  and  season  to  have  an  old-fashioned  dance. 
Aunt  has  quantities  of  ancient  finery  stowed  awa}^,  for 
great-grandfather  Basset  was  a  fine  old  gentleman  and 
his  family  lived  in  state.  Take  your  choice  of  the 
crimson,  blue  or  silver-gra}'  damask.  Ruth  is  to  wear 
the  worked  muslin  and  quilted  white  satin  skirt,  with 
that  coquettish  hat." 

"Being  dark,  I'll  take  the  red  and  trim  it  up  with 
this  fine  lace.  You  must  wear  the  blue  and  prim- 
rose, with  the  distracting  liigh-heeled  shoes.  Have 
you   any  suits  for    the    men?"    asked    Emily,    throw- 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS,  109 

ing  herself  at  once  into  the  all-absorbing  matter  of 
costume. 

"  A  claret  velvet  coat  and  vest,  silk  stockings,  cocked 
hat  and  snuff-box  for  Randal.  Nothing  large  enough 
for  Saul,  so  he  must  wear  his  uniform.  Won't  Aunt 
Plumy  be  superb  in  this  plum-colored  satin  and  immense 
cap?" 

A  delightful  morning  was  spent  in  adapting  the  faded 
finery  of  the  past  to  the  blooming  beauty  of  the  present, 
and  time  and  tongues  flew  till  the  toot  of  a  horn  called 
them  down  to  dinner. 

The  girls  were  amazed  to  see  Randal  come  whistling 
up  the  road  with  his  trousers  tucked  into  his  boots,  blue 
mittens  on  his  hands,  and  an  unusual  amount  of  energy 
in  his  whole  figure,  as  he  drove  the  oxen,  while  Saul 
laughed  at  his  vain  attempts  to  guide  the  bewildered 
beasts. 

*'  It 's  immense  !  The  view  from  the  hill  is  well  worth 
seeing,  for  the  snow  glorifies  the  landscape  and  reminds 
one  of  Switzerland.  I  'm  going  to  make  a  sketch  of  it 
this  afternoon ;  better  come  and  enjoy  the  delicious 
freshness,  J'oung  ladies." 

Randal  was  eating  with  such  an  appetite  that  he  did 
not  see  the  glances  the  girls  exchanged  as  the^^  promised 
to  go. 

"  Bring  home  some  more  winter-green,  I  want  things 
to  be  real  nice,  and  we  have  n't  enough  for  the  kitchen," 
said  Ruth,  dimpling  with  girlish  dehght  as  she  imagined 
herself  dancing  under  the  green  garlands  in  her  grand- 
mother's wedding  gown. 

It  was  very  lovely  on  the  hill,  for  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  lay  the  wintr}^  landscape  sparkhng  with  the  brief 


110  PROVERB   STORIES. 

beaiitj'  of  sunshine  on  virgin  snow.  Pines  sighed  over- 
head, hardy  birds  flitted  to  and  fro,  and  in  all  the  trod- 
den spots  rose  the  little  spires  of  evergreen  ready  for 
its  Christmas  dut3\  Deeper  in  the  wood  sounded  the 
measured  ring  of  axes,  the  crash  of  falling  trees,  while 
the  red  shirts  of  the  men  added  color  to  the  scene,  and 
a  fresh  wind  brought  the  aromatic  breath  of  newly 
cloven  hemlock  and  pine. 

"How  beautiful  it  is  !  I  never  knew  before  what 
winter  woods  were  like.  Did  3'ou,  Sophie?"  asked 
Emily,  sitting  on  a  stump  to  enjoy  the  novel  pleasure 
at  her  ease. 

"I've  found  out  latel}' ;  Saul  lets  me  come  as  often 
as  I  like,  and  this  line  air  seems  to  make  a  new  creature 
of  me,"  answered  Sophie,  looking  about  her  with  spark- 
ling e3^es,  as  if  this  was  a  kingdom  where  she  reigned 
supreme. 

"  Something  is  making  a  new  creature  of  j^ou,  that  is 
ver}^  evident.  I  have  n't  3et  discovered  whether  it  is 
the  air  or  some  magic  herb  among  that  green  stuff  3'ou 
are  gathering  so  diligently ;  "  and  Emily  laughed  to  see 
the  color  deepen  beautiful!}'  in  her  friend's  half-averted 
face. 

"  Scarlet  is  the  onl)'  wear  just  now,  I  find.  If  we  are 
lost  like  babes  in  the  woods  there  are  plenty  of  Red- 
breasts to  cover  us  with  leaves,"  and  Randal  joined 
Emily's  laugh,  with  a  glance  at  Saul,  who  liad  just 
pulled  his  coat  off. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  this  tree  go  down,  so  stand  from 
under  and  I  '11  show  you  how  it 's  done,"  said  the  farmer, 
taking  up  his  axe,  not  unwilling  to  gratify  his  guests 
and  displa}'  his  manly  accomplishments  at  the  same  time.. 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  Ill 

It  was  a  fine  sight,  the  stalwart  man  swinging  his 
axe  with  magnificent  strength  and  skill,  each  blow 
sending  a  thrill  through  the  stately-  tree,  till  its  heart 
was  reached  and  it  tottered  to  its  fall.  Never  pausing 
for  breath  Saul  shook  his  3'ellow  mane  out  of  his  eyes, 
and  hewed  awa}',  while  the  drops  stood  on  his  forehead 
and  his  arm  ached,  as  bent  on  distinguishing  himself  as 
if  he  had  been  a  knight  tilting  against  his  rival  for  his 
lady's  favor. 

"  I  don't  know  which  to  admire  most,  the  man  or  his 
muscle.  One  doesn't  often  see  such  vigor,  size  and 
comeliness  in  these  degenerate  daj's,"  said  Randal, 
mentally  booking  the  fine  figure  in  the  red  shirt. 

"I  think  we  have  discovered  a  rough  diamond.  I 
only  wonder  if  Sophie  is  going  to  try  and  polish  it," 
answered  Emil}",  glancing  at  her  friend,  who  stood  a 
little  apart,  watching  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  axe  as  in- 
tentl}'  as  if  her  fate  depended  on  it. 

Down  rushed  the  tree  at  last,  and,  leaving  them  to 
examine  a  crow's  nest  in  its  branches,  Saul  went  off  to 
his  men,  as  if  he  found  the  praises  of  his  prowess  rather 
too  much  for  him. 

Randal  fell  to  sketching,  the  girls  to  their  garland- 
making,  and  for  a  little  while  the  sunny  woodland  nook 
was  full  of  lively  chat  and  pleasant  laugliter,  for  the  air 
exhilarated  them  all  like  wine.  Suddenly  a  man  came 
running  from  the  wood,  pale  and  anxious,  saying,  as  he 
hastened  by  for  help,  "  Blasted  tree  fell  on  him  !  Bleed 
to  death  before  the  doctor  comes  !  " 

'"  Who?  who?  "  cried  the  startled  trio. 

But  the  man  ran  on,  with  some  breathless  repl}',  in 
which  only  a  name  was  audible  —  ' '  Basset." 


112  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"The  deuce  it  is!"  and  Randal  dropped  his  pencil, 
while  the  girls  sprang  up  in  dismay.  Then,  with  one 
impulse,  they  hastened  to  the  distant  group,  half  visible 
behind  the  fallen  trees  and  corded  wood. 

Sophie  was  there  first,  and  forcing  her  wa}"  through 
the  little  crowd  of  men,  saw  a  red-shirted  figure  on  the 
ground,  crushed  and  bleeding,  and  threw  herself  down 
beside  it  with  a  cry  that  pierced  the  hearts  of  those  who 
heard  it.  In  the  act  she  saw  it  was  not  Saul,  and  covered 
her  bewildered  face  as  if  to  hide  its  jo}^  A  strong  arm 
lifted  her,  and  the  familiar  voice  said  cheeringly,  — 

"  I  'm  all  right,  dear.  Poor  Bruce  is  hurt,  but  we  Ve 
sent  for  help.  Better  go  right  home  and  forget  all 
about  it." 

"Yes,  I  will,  if  I  can  do  nothing;"  and  Sophie 
meekly  returned  to  her  friends  who  stood  outside  the 
circle  over  which  Saul's  head  towered,  assuring  them  of 
his  safety. 

Hoping  they  had  not  seen  her  agitation,  she  led  Emily 
away,  leaving  Randal  to  give  what  aid  he  could  and 
bring  them  news  of  the  poor  wood-chopper's  state. 

Aunt  Plumy  produced  the  "  camphire  "  the  moment 
she  saw  Sophie's  pale  face,  and  made  her  lie  down, 
while  tlie  brave  old  lady  trudged  briskl}'  off"  with  band- 
ages and  brandy  to  the  scene  of  action.  On  her  return 
she  brought  comfortable  news  of  the  man,  so  the  little 
flurry  blew  over  and  was  forgotten  b}'  all  but  Sophie, 
who  remained  pale  and  quiet  all  the  evening,  tying  ever- 
green as  if  her  fife  depended  on  it. 

"  A  good  night's  sleep  will  set  her  up.  She  ain't 
used  to  such  things,  dear  child,  and  needs  cossetin'," 
said  Aunt  Plumy,  purring  over  her  until  she  was  in  her 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  113 

bed,  with  a  hot  stone  at  her  feet  and  a  bowl  of  herb  tea 
to  quiet  her  nerves. 

An  hour  later,  when  Emily  went  up,  she  peeped  in  to 
see  if  Sophie  was  sleeping  nicely,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  the  invalid  wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  writing 
busily. 

"  Last  will  and  testament,  or  sudden  inspiration, 
dear  ?  How  are  you  ?  faint  or  feverish,  delirious  or  in 
the  dumps !  Saul  looks  so  anxious,  and  Mrs.  Basset 
hushes  us  all  up  so,  I  came  to  bed,  leaving  Randal  to 
entertain  Ruth." 

As  she  spoke  Emily  saw  the  papers  disappear  in  a 
portfolio,  and  Sophie  rose  with  a  3^awn. 

"  I  was  writing  letters,  but  I'm  sleepy  now.  Quite 
over  my  foolish  fright,  thank  you.  Go  and  get  your 
beauty  sleep  that  you  may  dazzle  the  natives  to-mor- 
row." 

''So  glad,  good  night;"  and  EmiU'  went  away, 
saying  to  herself,  "  Something  is  going  on,  and  I 
must  find  out  what  it  is  before  I  leave.  Sophie  can't 
blind  me." 

But  Sophie  did  all  the  next  da}^  being  delightfully 
gay  at  the  dinner,  and  devoting  herself  to  the  young 
minister  who  was  invited  to  meet  the  distinguished  nov- 
elist, and  evidently  being  afraid  of  him,  gladl}''  basked 
in  the  smiles  of  his  charming  neighbor.  A  dashing 
sleigh-ride  occupied  the  afternoon,  and  then  great  was 
the  fun  and  excitement  over  the  costumes. 

Aunt  Plumy  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks  as  the  girls  compressed  her  into  the  plum-colored 
gown  with  its  short  waist,  leg-of-mutton  sleeves,  and 
narrow  skirt.     But  a  worked  scarf  hid  all  deficiencies, 

8 


114  PROVERB   STORIES. 

and  the  towering  cap  struck  awe  into  the  soul  of  the 
most  frivolous  observer. 

^'  Keep  an  e^'e  on  me,  girls,  for  I  shall  certainl}^ 
split  somewheres  or  lose  my  head-piece  off  when  I  'm 
trottin'  round.  What  would  m}^  blessed  mother  saj'  if 
she  could  see  me  rigged  out  in  her  best  things  ?  "  and 
with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  the  old  lady  departed  to  look 
after  "  the  boys,"  and  see  that  the  supper  was  all  right. 

Three  prettier  damsels  never  tripped  down  the  wide 
staircase  than  the  brilliant  brunette  in  crimson  brocade, 
the  pensive  blonde  in  blue,  or  the  rosy  little  bride  in  old 
muslin  and  white  satin. 

A  gallant  court  gentleman  met  them  in  the  hall  with 
a  superb  bow,  and  escorted  them  to  the  parlor,  where 
Grandma  Basset's  ghost  was  discovered  dancing  with  a 
modern  major  in  full  uniform. 

Mutual  admiration  and  many  compliments  followed, 
till  other  ancient  ladies  and  gentlemen  arrived  in  all 
manner  of  queer  costumes,  and  the  old  house  seemed 
to  wake  from  its  humdrum  quietude  to  sudden  music 
and  merriment,  as  if  a  past  generation  had  returned  to 
keep  its  Christmas  there. 

The  village  fiddler  soon  struck  up  the  good  old  tunes, 
and  then  the  strangers  saw  dancing  that  filled  them  with 
mingled  mirth  and  envy ;  it  was  so  droll,  yet  so  hearty. 
The  young  men,  unusually  awkward  in  their  grand- 
fathers' knee-breeches,  flapping  vests,  and  swallow-tail 
coats,  footed  it  bravely  with  the  buxom  girls  who  were 
the  prettier  for  then-  quaintness,  ajid  danced  with  such 
vigor  that  their  high  combs  stood  awr}',  their  furbelows 
waved  wildly,  and  their  checks  were  as  red  as  their 
breast-knots,  or  hose. 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  115 

It  was  impossible  to  stand  still,  and  one  after  the 
other  the  cit}^  folk  yielded  to  the  spell,  Randal  leading 
off  with  Ruth,  Sophie  swept  away  b_y  Saul,  and  Emily- 
being  taken  possession  of  by  a  young  giant  of  eighteen, 
who  spun  her  around  with  a  boyish  impetuosity  that 
took  her  breath  awa}-.  Even  Aunt  Plum}^  was  discov- 
ered jigging  it  alone  in  the  pantr}^  as  if  the  music  was 
too  much  for  her,  and  the  plates  and  glasses  jingled 
gaily  on  the  shelves  in  time  to  Money  Musk  and  Fishers' 
Hornpipe. 

A  pause  came  at  last,  however,  and  fans  fluttered, 
heated  brows  were  wiped,  jokes  were  made,  lovers  ex- 
changed confidences,  and  every  nook  and  corner  held  a 
man  and  maid  carrying  on  the  sweet  game  which  is 
never  out  of  fashion.  •  There  was  a  glitter  of  gold  lace 
in  the  back  entr}^,  and  a  train  of  blue  and  primrose 
shone  in  the  dim  light.  There  was  a  richer  crimson 
than  that  of  the  geraniums  in  the  deep  window,  and  a 
dainty  shoe  tapped  the  bare  floor  impatientl}^  as  the 
brilliant  black  eyes  looked  everywhere  for  the  court 
gentleman,  while  their  owner  listened  to  the  gruflT  prattle 
of  an  enamored  bo}^  But  in  the  upper  hall  walked  a 
little  white  ghost  as  if  waiting  for  some  shadow}'  com- 
panion, and  when  a  dark  form  appeared  ran  to  take  its 
arm,  saying,  in  a  tone  of  soft  satisfaction,  — 

"  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  n't  come  !  " 

"  Why  did  you  leave  me,  Ruth?  "  answered  a  manly 
voice  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  though  the  small  hand  slip- 
ping from  the  velvet  coat-sleeve  was  replaced  as  if  it 
was  pleasant  to  feel  it  there. 

A  pause,  and  then  the  other  voice  answered  de- 
murel}^,  — 


116  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"Because  I  was  afraid  my  head  would  be  turned  by 
the  fine  thuigs  3'ou  were  sayhig." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  help  saying  what  one  feels  to 
such  an  artless  little  creature  as  you  are.  It  does  me 
good  to  admire  anything  so  fresh  and  sweet,  and  won't 
harm  you." 

"  It  might  if— " 

"  If  what,  my  daisy?" 

"  I  believed  it,"  and  a  laugh  seemed  to  finish  the 
broken  sentence  better  than  the  words. 

"  You  may,  Ruth,  for  I  do  sincerel}'  admire  the  most 
genuine  girl  I  have  seen  for  a  long  time.  And  walking 
here  with  you  in  3'our  bridal  white  I  was  just  asking  m3'self 
if  I  should  not  be  a  happier  man  with  a  home  of  my  own 
and  a  little  wife  hanging  on  my  arm  than  drifting  about 
the  world  as  I  do  now  with  only  myself  to  care  for." 

' '  I  know  you  would  !  "  and  Ruth  spoke  so  earnestly 
that  Randal  was  both  touched  and  startled,  fearing  he 
had  ventured  too  far  in  a  mood  of  unwonted  sentiment, 
born  of  the  romance  of  the  hour  and  the  sweet  frankness 
of  his  companion. 

"  Then  you  don't  think  it  would  be  rash  for  some 
sweet  woman  to  take  me  in  hand  and  make  me  happ}', 
since  fame  is  a  failure  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  would  be  easy  work  if  she  loved  3'ou. 
I  know  some  one  —  if  I  only  dared  to  tell  her  name." 

"Upon  my  soul,  this  is  cool,"  and  Randal  looked 
down,  wondering  if  the  audacious  lad}^  on  his  arm  could 
be  shy  Ruth. 

If  he  had  seen  the  malicious  merriment  in  her  e3'es  he 
would  have  been  more  humiliated  still,  but  tlie3'  were 
modestl3^  averted,  and  the  face  under  the  httle  hat  was 


^    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  117 

fall  of  a  soft  agitation  rather  dangerous  even  to  a  man 
of  the  world. 

'^  She  is  a  captivating  little  creature,  but  it  is  too 
ftoon  for  anything  but  a  mild  flirtation.  I  must  delaj^ 
further  innocent  revelations  or  I  shall  do  something 
rash." 

While  making  this  excellent  resolution  Randal  had 
been  pressing  the  hand  upon  his  arm  and  gently  pacing 
down  the  dimly  lighted  hall  with  the  sound  of  music  in 
his  ears,  Ruth's  sweetest  roses  in  his  button-hole,  and  a 
loving  little  girl  beside  him,  as  he  thought. 

"You  shall  tell  me  by  and  by  when  we  are  in  town. 
I  am  sure  you  will  come,  and  meanwhile  don't  forget 
me." 

"I  am  going  in  the  spring,  but  I  shall  not  be  with 
Sophie,**  answered  Ruth,  in  a  whisper. 

"  With  whom  then?     I  shall  long  to  see  you.'* 

"  With  my  husband.     I  am  to  be  married  in  May." 

"  The  deuce  you  are  !  "  escaped  Randal,  as  he  stopped 
short  to  stare  at  his  companion,  sure  she  was  not  in 
earnest. 

But  she  was,  for  as  he  looked  the  sound  of  steps 
coming  up  the  back  stairs  made  her  whole  face  flush 
and  brighten  with  the  unmistakable  glow  of  happy  love, 
and  she  completed  Randal's  astonishment  by  running 
into  the  arms  of  the  young  minister,  saying  with  an  irre- 
pressible laugh,  ''  Oh !  John,  why  did  n't  you  come 
before?" 

The  court  gentleman  was  all  right  in  a  moment,  and 
the  coolest  of  the  three  as  he  offered  his  congratulations 
and  gracefully  retired,  leaving  the  lovers  to  enjoy  the 
tryst  he  had  delayed.     But  as  he  \yent  ^own  stairs  his 


118  PROVERB   STORIES. 

brows  were  knit,  and  he  slapped  the  broad  railing 
smartl}'  with  his  cocked  hat  as  if  some  irritation  must 
find  vent  in  a  more  energetic  way  than  merel}'  saying, 
"  Confound  the  little  baggage  I  "  under  his  breath. 

Such  an  amazing  supper  came  from  Aunt  Plumy's  big 
pantry  that  the  city  guests  could  not  eat  for  laughing  at 
the  queer  dishes  circulating  through  the  rooms,  and 
copiously  partaken  of  by  the  heart}'  young  folks. 

Doughnuts  and  cheese,  pie  and  pickles,  cider  and  tea, 
baked  beans  and  custards,  cake  and  cold  turkey,  bread 
and  butter,  plum  pudding  and  French  bonbons,  Sophie's 
contribution. 

"  May  I  offer  you  the  native  delicacies,  and  share  your 
plate.  Both  are  very  good,  but  the  .  china  has  run 
short,  and  after  such  vigorous  exercise  as  3-ou  have  had 
3^ou  must  need  refreshment.  I  'm  sure  I  do !  "  said 
Randal,  bowing  before  Emily  with  a  great  blue  platter 
laden  with  two  doughnuts,  two  wedges  of  pumpkin  pie 
and  two  spoons. 

The  smile  with  which  she  welcomed  him,  the  alacrity 
with  which  she  made  room  beside  her  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  supper  he  brought,  was  so  soothing  to  his 
ruffled  spirit  that  he  soon  began  to  feel  that  there  is  no 
friend  like  an  old  friend,  that  it  would  not  be  difficult  to 
name  a  sweet  woman  who  would  take  him  in  hand  and 
would  make  him  happy  if  he  cared  to  ask  her,  and  he 
began  to  think  he  would  b}-  and  by,  it  was  so  pleasant 
to  sit  in  that  green  corner  with  waves  of  crimson  bro- 
cade flowing  over  his  feet,  and  a  line  face  softening 
beautifully  under  his  eyes. 

The  supper  was  not  rouiantic,  but  the  situation  was, 
and  Emily  found  that  pie  ambrosial  food  eaten  with  the 


4    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  119 

man  slic  loved,  whose  03x3  talked  more  eloqiientl}'  than 
the  tongue  just  then  busy  with  a  doughnut.  Ilutli  kept 
awa}',  but  glanced  at  them  as  she  served  her  compan}", 
and  her  own  happ^^  experience  helped  her  to  see  that 
all  was  going  well  in  that  quarter.  Saul  and  Sophie 
emerged  from  the  back  entry  with  shining  countenances, 
but  carefull}'  avoided  each  other  for  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing. No  one  observed  this  but  Aunt  Plumy  from  the 
recesses  of  her  pantry,  and  she  folded  her  hands  as  if 
well  content,  as  she  murmured  fervently  over  a  par* 
full  of  crullers,  "  Bless  the  dears !  Now  I  can  die 
happy." 

Every  one  thought  Sophie's  old-fashioned  dress  im- 
mensely becoming,  and  several  of  his  former  men  saiOf 
to  Saul  with  blunt  admiration,  "  Major,  you  look  to- 
night as  you  used  to  after  we  'd  gained  a  big  battle." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had,"  answered  the  splendid  Major, 
with  eyes  much  brighter  than  his  buttons,  and  a  hearfc 
under  them  infinicely  prouder  than  when  he  was  pro- 
moted on  the  hold  of  honor,  for  his  Waterloo  was  won. 

There  was  more  dancing,  followed  b}'  games,  in  which 
Aunt  Plum}^  shone  pre-eminent,  for  the  supper  was  oft 
her  mind  a,ad  she  could  enjoy  herself  There  were 
shouts  of  merriment  as  the  blithe  old  lady  twirled  the 
platter,  hiwted  the  squirrel,  and  went  to  Jerusalem  like 
a  girl  of  sixteen ;  her  cap  in  a  ruinous  condition,  anC{ 
every  seajn  of  the  purple  dress  straining  like  sails  in  a 
gale.  It  was  great  fun,  but  at  midnight  it  came  to  an 
end,  and  ihe  3^oung  folks,  still  bubbling  over  with  inno- 
cent jollity,  went  jingling  away  along  the  snowy  hills, 
unanimously  pronouncing  Mrs.  Basset's  party  the  bes^ 
of  the  season. 


120  PROVERB  STORIES, 

"  Never  had  such  a  good  time  in  my  life  ! "  exclaimed 
Sophie,  as  the  famil}'  stood  together  in  the  kitchen 
where  the  candles  among  the  wreaths  were  going  out, 
and  the  floor  was  strewn  with  wrecks  of  past  joy. 

"I'm  proper  glad,  dear.  Now  3'ou  all  go  to  bed 
and  lay  as  late  as  3'ou  like  to-morrow.  I  'm  so  kinder 
worked  up  I  could  n't  sleep,  so  Saul  and  me  will  put 
things  to  rights  without  a  mite  of  noise  to  disturb  3'ou  ;  " 
and  Aunt  Plumy  sent  them  off  with  a  smile  that  was  a 
benediction,  Sophie  thought. 

''The  dear  old  soul  speaks  as  if  midnight  was  an 
imheard-of  hour  for  Christians  to  be  up.  What  would 
she  say  if  she  knew  how  we  seldom  go  to  bed  till  dawn 
in  the  ball  season  ?  I  'm  so  wide  awake  I  've  half  a 
mind  to  pack  a  little.  Randal  must  go  at  two,  he  saj'S, 
and  we  shall  want  his  escort,"  said  Emilj^  as  the  girls 
laid  away  their  brocades  in  the  great  press  in  Sophie's 
room. 

"  I  'm  not  going.  Aunt  can't  spare  me,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  go  for  yet,"  answered  Sophie,  beginning  to 
take  the  white  chrysanthemums  out  of  her  prett}'  hair. 

"  My  dear  child,  3'OU  will  die  of  ennui  up  here.  Ver}^ 
nice  for  a  week  or  so,  but  frightful  for  a  winter.  We 
are  going  to  be  very  ga}',  and  cannot  get  on  without 
3'OU,"  cried  Emity,  dismayed  at  the  suggestion. 

"  You  will  have  to,  for  I  'm  not  coming.  I  am  very 
happy  here,  and  so  tired  of  the  frivolous  life  I  lead  in 
town,  that  I  have  decided  to  try  a  better  one,"  and 
Sophie's  mirror  reflected  a  face  full  of  the  sweetest 
content. 

"  Have  3'OU  lost  your  mind?  experienced  religion?  or 
any  other  dreadful  thing?     You  always  were  odd,  but 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  121 

this  last  freak  is  the  strangest  of  all.  What  will  your 
guardian  saj^,  and  the  world  ?  "  added  Emily  in  the  awe- 
stricken  tone  of  one  who  stood  in  fear  of  the  omnipotent 
Mrs.  Grund}'. 

^'Guardy  will  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  and  I  don't 
care   that  for  the  world,"  cried  Sophie,  snapping  her 
fingers  with  a  J03'fiil  sort  of  recklessness  which  com 
pleted  Emily's  bewilderment. 

"  But  llr.  Hammond  ?  Are  3'ou  going  to  throw  awa}^ 
millions,  lose  your  chance  of  making  the  best  match  in 
the  cit}^  and  driving  the  girls  of  our  set  out  of  their 
wits  with  env}^  ?  " 

Sophie  laughed  at  her  friend's  despairing  cry,  and 
turning  round  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Hammond  last  night,  and  this  even- 
ing received  my  reward  for  being  an  honest  girl.  Saul 
and  I  are  to  be  married  in  the  spring  when  Kuth  is." 

Emily  fell  prone  upon  the  bed  as  if  the  announcement 
was  too  much  for  her,  but  was  up  again  in  an  instant  to 
declare  with  prophetic  solemnity,  — 

"  I  knew  something  was  going  on,  but  hoped  to  get 
you  away  before  you  were  lost.  Sophie,  3'ou  will  re- 
pent.    Be  warned,  and  forget  this  sad  delusion." 

"  Too  late  for  that.  The  pang  I  suffered  yesterdaj^ 
when  I  thought  Saul  was  dead  showed  me  how  well  I 
loved  Mm.  To-night  he  asked  me  to  stay,  and  no 
power  in  the  world  can  part  us.  Oh !  Emily,  it  is  all 
so  sweet,  so  beautiful,  that  everything  is  possible,  and  I 
know  I  shall  be  happy  in  this  dear  old  home,  full  of  love 
and  peace  and  honest  hearts.  I  only  hope  you  may 
find  as  true  and  tender  a  man  to  live  for  as  m}'  Saul." 

Sophie's   face   was   more  eloquent  than  her  fervent 


122  PROVERB   STORIES. 

words,  and  Emil}'  beautifully  illustrated  the  inconsis- 
tenc}'  of  her  sex  b}"  suddenly'  embracing  her  friend,  with 
the  incoherent  exclamation,  "I  think  I  have,  dear! 
Your  brave  Saul  is  worth  a  dozen  old  Hammonds,  and 
I  do  believe  3'ou  are  right." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  how,  as  if  drawn  b}'  the  irre- 
sistible magic  of  sympathy,  Ruth  and  her  mother  crept 
in  one  by  one  to  join  the  midnight  conference  and  add 
their  smiles  and  tears,  tender  hopes  and  proud  delight 
to  the  joys  of  that  memorable  hour.  Nor  how  Saul, 
unable  to  sleep,  mounted  guard  below,  and  meeting 
Randal  prowling  down  to  soothe  his  nerves  with  a 
surreptitious  cigar  found  it  impossible  to  help  confiding 
to  his  attentive  ear  the  happiness  that  would  break 
bounds  and  overflow  in  unusual  eloquence. 

Peace  fell  upon  the  old  house  at  last,  and  all  slept  as 
if  some  magic  herb  had  touched  their  eyelids,  bringing 
blissful  dreams  and  a  glad  awakening. 

"  Can't  we  persuade  you  to  come  with  us.  Miss 
Sophie  ? "  asked  Randal  next  day,  as  they  made  their 
adieu  X. 

''^I'm  under  orders  now,  and  dare  not  disobey  my 
superior  officer,"  answered  Sophie,  handing  her  Major  his 
driving  gloves,  with  a  look  which  plainly  showed  that  she 
had  joined  the  great  army  of  devoted  women  who  enlist 
for  life  and  ask  no  pay  but  love. 

"  I  shall  depend  on  being  invited  to  your  wedding, 
then,  and  yours,  too,  Miss  Ruth,"  added  Randal,  shak- 
ing hands  with  '^  the  little  baggage,"  as  if  he  had  quite 
forgiven  her  mockery  and  forgotten  his  own  brief  lapse 
into  sentiment. 

Before  she  could  reply  Aunt  Plumy  said,  in  a  tone  ot 


A    COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS.  123 

calm  conviction,  that  made  them  all  laugh,  and  some  of 
them  look  conscious,  — 

''  Spring  is  a  good  time  for  weddin's,  and  I  should  n't 
wonder  ef  there  was  quite  a  number." 

''  Nor  I ;  "  and  Saul  and  Sophie  smiled  at  one  another 
as  they  saw  how  carefully  Randal  arranged  Emily's 
wraps. 

Then  with  kisses,  thanks  and  all  the  good  wishes  that 
happy  hearts  could  imagine,  the  guests  drove  awa}^^  to 
remember  long  and  gratefully  that  pleasant  country- 
Christmas. 


ON  PICKET  DUTY. 

"  Better  late  than  never." 


"  TT  THAT  air  you  thinkin'  of,  Phil?" 
VV       "  My  wife,  Dick." 

"  So  -was  I !  Ain't  it  odd  how  fellers  fall  to  thinkin* 
of  thar  little  women,  when  they  get  a  quiet  spell  hke 
this?" 

"  Fortunate  for  us  that  we  do  get  it,  and  have  such 
memories  to  keep  us  brave  and  honest  through  the  trials 
and  temptations  of  a  life  like  ours." 

October  moonlight  shone  clearly  on  the  solitary  tree, 
draped  with  gray  moss,  scarred  by  lightning  and  warped 
by  wind,  looking  like  a  venerable  warrior,  whose  long 
campaign  was  nearly  done  ;  and  underneath  was  posted 
the  guard  of  four.  Behind  them  twinkled  many  camp- 
fires  on  a  distant  plain,  before  them  wound  a  road 
ploughed  by  the  passage  of  an  army,  strewn  with  the 
relics  of  a  rout.  On  the  right,  a  sluggish  river  glided, 
like  a  serpent,  stealthy,  sinuous,, and  dark,  into  a  seem- 
ingly impervious  jungle  ;  on  the  left,  a  Southern  swamp 
filled  tlie  air  with  malarial  damps,  swarms  of  noisome 
life,  and  discordant  sounds  that  robbed  the  hour  of  its 
repose.  The  men  were  friends  as  well  as  comrades,  for 
though  gathered  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  Union, 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  125 

and  dissimilar  in  education,  character,  and  tastes,  the 
same  spirit  animated  all ;  the  routine  of  camp-life  threw 
them  much  together,  and  mutual  esteem  soon  grew  into 
a  bond  of  mutual  good  fellowship. 

Thorn  was  a  Massachusetts  volunteer ;  a  man  who 
seemed  too  early  old,  too  early  embittered  by  some 
cross,  for,  though  grim  of  countenance,  rough  of  speech, 
cold  of  manner,  a  keen  observer  would  have  soon  dis- 
covered traces  of  a  deeper,  warmer  nature  hidden  behind 
the  repellent  front  he  turned  upon  the  world.  A  true 
New  Engiander,  thoughtful,  acute,  reticent,  and  opin- 
ionated ;  yet  earnest  withal,  intensely  patriotic,  and 
often  humorous,  despite  a  touch  of  Puritan  austerity. 

Phil,  the  "  romantic  chap,"  as  he  was  called,  looked 
his  character  to  the  life.  Slender,  swarthj^,  melancholy- 
e^'ed,  and  darkly-bearded ;  with  feminine  features,  mel- 
low voice,  and  alternately  languid  or  vivacious  manners. 
A  child  of  the  South  in  nature  as  in  aspect,  ardent  and 
proud ;  fitfully  aspiring  and  despairing ;  without  the 
native  energy  which  moulds  character  and  ennobles  life. 
Months  of  discipline  and  devotion  had  done  much  for 
him,  and  some  deep  experience  was  fast  ripening  the 
youth  into  a  man. 

Flint,  the  long-limbed  lumberman,  from  the  wilds  of 
Maine,  was  a  conscript  who,  when  government  de- 
manded his  money  or  his  life,  calculated  the  cost,  and 
decided  that  the  cash  would  be  a  dead  loss  and  the  claim 
might  be  repeated,  whereas  the  conscript  would  get  both 
pay  and  plunder  out  of  government,  while  taking  excel- 
lent care  that  government  got  ver}^  little  out  of  him. 
A  shrewd,  slow-spoken,  self-reliant  specimen,  was  Flint ; 
3'et  something   of  the  fresh  flavor  of  the  backwoods 


126  PROVERB  STORIES. 

lingered  in  him  still,  as  if  Nature  were  loath  to  give  him 
up,  and  left  the  mark  of  her  motherl}'  hand  upon  him, 
as  she  leaves  it  in  a  dry,  pale  lichen,  on  the  bosom  of 
the  roughest  stone. 

Dick  "  hailed  "  from  Illinois,  and  was  a  comely  young 
fellow,  full  of  dash  and  daring ;  rough  and  rowd}',  gen- 
erous and  jolly,  overflowing  with  spirits  and  ready  for  a 
free  fight  with  all  the  world. 

Silence  followed  the  last  words,  while  the  friendly 
moon  climbed  up  the  sky.  Each  man's  e3'e  followed  it, 
and  each  man's  heart  was  busy  with  remembrances  of 
other  ej-es  and  hearts  that  might  be  watching  and  wish- 
ing as  theirs  watched  and  wished.  In  the  silence,  each 
shaped  for  himself  that  vision  of  home  that  brightens  so 
many  camp-fires,  haunts  so  many  dreamers  under  can- 
vas roofs,  and  keeps  so  man3^  turbulent  natures  tender 
b}^  memories  which  often  are  both  solace  and  salvation. 

Thorn  paced  to  and  fro,  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder, 
vigilant  and  soldierly,  however  soft  his  heart  might  be. 
Phil  leaned  against  the  tree,  one  hand  in  the  breast  of 
his  blue  jacket,  on  the  painted  presentment  of  the  face 
his  fancy  was  picturing  in  the  golden  circle  of  the  moon. 
FHnt  lounged  on  the  sward,  whisthng  softly  as  he 
whittled  at  a  fallen  bough.  Dick  was  flat  on  his  back, 
heels  in  air,  cigar  in  mouth,  and  some  hilarious  notion 
in  his  mind,  for  suddenly  he  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"What  is  it,  lad?"  asked  Thorn,  pausing  in  his 
tramp,  as  if  willing  to  be  drawn  from  the  disturbing 
thought  that  made  his  black  brows  lower  and  his  mouth 
look  grim. 

"  Thinkin'  of  my  wife,  and  wishin'  she  was  here, 
bless  her  heart !  set  me  remcmberin'  how  I  see  her  fust, 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  127 

and  so  I  roared,  as  I  alwa3's  do  when  it  comes  into  ih^ 
head." 

"  How  was  it?  Come,  reel  off  a  3'arn,  and  let 's  hear 
houw  yeou  hitched  teams,"  said  Flint,  always  glad  to 
get  information  concerning  his  neighbors,  if  it  could  be 
cheapl}^  done. 

"  Tellin'  how  we  found  our  wives  would  n't  be  a  bad 
game,  would  it,  Phil?" 

"  I  'm  agreeable  ;  but  let 's  have  your  romance  first." 

"  Devilish  little  of  that  about  me  or  any  of  m}^  doin's. 
I  hate  sentimental  bosh  as  much  as  you  hate  slang,  and 
should  have  been  a  bachelor  to  this  day  if  I  had  n't  seen 
Kitty  jest  as  I  did.  You  see,  I  'd  been  too  bus}'  larkin' 
round  to  get  time  for  marryin',  till  a  couple  of  3'ears  ago, 
when  I  did  up  the  job  double-quick,  as  I  'd  like  to  do 
this  thunderin'  slow  one,  hang  it  all !  " 

"  Halt  a  minute  till  I  give  a  look,  for  this  picket  is  n't 
going  to  be  driven  in  or  taken  while  I  'm  on  guard." 

Down  his  beat  w^ent  Thorn,  reconnoitring  river,  road, 
and  swamp,  as  thoroughlj'  as  one  pair  of  keen  eyes 
could  do  it,  and  came  back  satisfied,  but  still  growling 
like  a  faithful  mastiff  on  the  watch  ;  performances  which 
he  repeated  at  intervals  till  his  own  turn  came. 

"  I  did  n't  have  to  go  out  of  my  own  State  for  a  wife, 
you  'd  better  believe,"  began  Dick,  with  a  boast,  as 
usual ;  "  for  we  raise  as  fine  a  crop  of  girls  thar  as  any 
State  hi  or  out  of  the  Union,  and  don't  mind  raisin'  Cain 
with  any  man  who  denies  it.  I  was  out  on  a  gunnin' 
tramp  with  Joe  Partridge,  a  cousin  of  mine,  —  poor  old 
chap !  he  fired  his  last  shot  at  Gettysburg,  and  died 
game  in  a  wa}'  he  did  n't  dream  of  the  da}-  we  popped 
off  the  birds  together.     It  ain't  right  to  joke  that  way  ; 


128  PROVERB   STORIES. 

I  won't  if  I  can  help  it ;  but  a  feller  gets  awfullj'  kind  of 
heathenish  these  times,  don't  he?  " 

"  Settle  lip  them  scores  byme-by ;  fightin'  Christians 
is  scurse  raound  here.     Fire  awa}',  Dick." 

"  Well,  we  got  as  hungry  as  hounds  half  a  dozen  mile 
from  home,  and  when  a  farmhouse  hove  in  sight,  Joe 
said  he  'd  ask  for  a  bite,  and  leave  some  of  the  plunder 
for  pay.  I  was  visitin'  Joe,  did  n't  know  folks  round, 
and  backed  out  of  the  beggin'  part  of  the  job ;  so  he 
went  ahead  alone.  We  'd  come  out  of  the  woods  behind 
the  house,  and  while  Joe  was  foragin',  I  took  a  recou- 
noissance.  The  view  was  fust-rate,  for  the  main  part 
of  it  was  a  girl  airin'  beds  on  the  roof  of  a  stoop.  Xow, 
jest  about  that  time,  havin'  a  leisure  spell,  I  'd  begun  to 
think  of  marryin',  and  took  a  look  at  all  the  girls  I  met, 
with  an  eye  to  business.  I  s'pose  ever}'  man  has  some 
sort  of  an  idee  or  pattern  of  the  wife  he  wants  ;  pretty 
and  plucky,  good  and  ga}^  was  mine,  but  I  'd  never 
found  it  till  I  see  Kitty ;  and  as  she  did  n't  see  me,  I 
had  the  advantage  and  took  an  extra  long  stare." 

"  What  was  her  good  p'ints,  hey  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  she  had  a  wide-awake  pair  of  eyes,  a 
bright,  jolh^  sort  of  a  face,  lots  of  curl}'  hair  tumblin' 
out  of  her  net,  a  trig  little  figger,  and  a  pair  of  the 
neatest  feet  and  ankles  that  ever  stepped.  '  Prett}',' 
thinks  I ;  '  so  far  so  good.'  The  way  she  whacked  the 
pillers,  shook  the  blankets,  and  pitched  into  the  beds 
was  a  caution  ;  specially  one  blundorin'  old  feather-bed 
that  would  n't  do  nothin'  but  sag  round  in  a  pig-headed 
sort  of  way,  that  would  iiave  made  most  girls  get  mad 
and  give  up.  Kitty  did  n't,  but  just  wrastled  with  it 
like   a  good  one,   till  she  got  it  turned,  banged,  and 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  129 

spread  to  suit  her ;  then  she  plumped  down  in  tlic 
middle  of  it,  with  a  sarcy  little  nod  and  chuckle  to  lier- 
si'ir,  that  tickled  me  mightil}'.  '  riucky,'  thinks  I, 
*  better  'n'  better.'  Jest  then  an  old  woman  came  flyin' 
out  the  back-door,  callin',  '  Kitty  !  Kitty  !  Squire  Part- 
ridge's son  's  here,  'long  with  a  friend  ;  been  gunnin,' 
want  luncheon,  and  I  'm  all  in  the  suds  ;  do  come  down 
and  see  to  'em.' 

'''Where  are  they?'  says  Kitt}-,  scrambhng  up  her 
hair  and  settlin'  her  gown  in  a  jiffy,  as  women  have  a 
knack  of  doin',  3^ou  know. 

"'Mr.  Joe's  in  the  front  entry;  the  other  man's 
somewheres  round,  Billy  saj^s,  waitin'  till  I  send  word 
whether  they  can  stop.  I  darsn't  till  I  'd  seen  3'ou,  for 
I  can't  do  nothin',  I  'm  in  such  a  mess,'  says  the  old 
lady. 

"  '  So  am  I,  for  I  can't  get  in  except  bj-  the  entry 
window,  and  he  '11  see  me,'  says  Kittj',  gigglin'  at  the 
thoughts  of  Joe. 

"  '  Come  down  the  ladder,  there  's  a  dear.  I  '11  pull 
it  round  and  keep  it  stidd}-,'  says  her  mother. 

"  '  Oh,  ma,  don't  ask  me  ! '  sa3's  Kitt}',  with  a  shiver. 
'  I  'm  dreadfully  scared  of  ladders  since  I  brcke  my  arm 
off  this  very  one.  It 's  so  high,  it  makes  me  dizz}^  jest 
to  think  of.' 

"  'Well,  then,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can;  but  I  wish 
them  bo3'S  was  to  Jericho ! '  sa3's  the  old  lady,  with  a 
groan,  for  she  was  fat  and  hot,  had  her  gown  pinned 
up,  and  was  in  a  fluster  generall3'.  She  was  goin'  ofl 
rather  huff3',  when  Kitt3^  called  out,  — 

"'Stop,  ma!  I'll  come  down  and  help  j^ou,  only 
ketch  me  if  I  tumble.' 

9 


130  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  She  looked  scared  but  stiddy,  and  I  '11  bet  it  took  as 
much  grit  for  her  to  do  it  as  for  one  of  us  to  face  a  ])at- 
ter}^  It  don't  seem  much  to  tell  of,  but  I  wish  I  may 
be  hit  if  it  was  n't  a  right  down  dutiful  and  clever  thing 
to  see  done.  When  the  old  lady  took  her  off  at  the 
bottom,  with  a  good  motherly  hug,  '  Good,'  thinks  I ; 
'  what  more  do  you  want  ? '  " 

"  A  snug  little  propert}^  would  n't  a  ben  bad,  I  reck- 
on," said  Flint. 

"Well,  she  had  it,  old  skin-flint,  though  I  didn't 
know  or  care  about  it  then.  What  a  jollj^  row  she'd 
make  if  she  knew  I  was  tellin'  the  ladder  part  of  the 
story !  She  alwa3's  does  when  I  get  to  it,  and  makes 
believe  cry,  with  her  head  in  my  breast-pocket,  or  any 
such  handy  place,  till  I  take  it  out  and  swear  I  '11  never 
do  so  ag'in.  Poor  little  Kit,  I  wonder  what  she  's  doin' 
now.     Thinkin'  of  me,  I  '11  bet." 

Dick  paused,  pulled  his  cap  lower  over  his  e3'es,  and 
smoked  a  minute  with  more  energ}"  than  enjoj'ment,  for 
his  cigar  was  out  and  he  did  not  perceive  it. 

''That's  not  all,  is  it?"  asked  Thorn,  taking  a 
fatherly  interest  in  the  3'ounger  man's  love  passages. 

"Not  quite.  'Fore  long,  Joe  whistled,  and  as  I 
always  take  short  cuts  ever3whar,  I  put  in  at  the  back- 
door, jest  as  Kitty  come  trottin'  out  of  the  pantr}-  with 
a  big  berrj'-pie  in  her  hand.  I  startled  her,  she  tripped 
over  the  sill  and  down  she  come  ;  the  dish  flew  one  way, 
the  pie  flopped  into  her  la}),  the  juice  spatterin'  ni}^ 
boots  and  her  clean  gown.  I  thought  she  'd  cny,  scold, 
have  hysterics,  or  some  confounded  thing  or  other ;  but 
she  jest  sat  still  a  minute,  then  looked  up  at  me  with  a 
great  blue    splash  on  her  face,  and  went  ofl"  into  the 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  131 

good-naturedest  gale  of  laugliin'  j'ou  ever  hoard  in 
your  life.  That  finished  me.  'Gay,'  thinks  I;  'go 
in  and  win.'  So  I  did ;  made  love  hand  over  hand, 
while  I  stayed  with  Joe ;  pnpposed  a  fortnight  after, 
married  her  in  three  months,  and  there  she  is,  a  tip- 
top little  woman,  with  a  pair  of  stunnin'  boys  in  her 
arms !  " 

Out  came  a  well-worn  case,  and  Dick  proudly  dis- 
played the  likeness  of  a  stout,  much  bejewelled  5^oung 
woman  with  two  staring  infants  on  her  knee.  In  his 
sight,  the  poor  picture  was  a  more  perfect  work  of  art 
than  any  of  Sir  Joshua's  baby-beauties,  or  Raphael's 
Madonnas,  and  the  little  story  needed  no  better  sequel 
than  the  young  father's  praises  of  his  twins,  the  covert 
kiss  he  gave  their  mother  when  he  turned  as  if  to  get  a 
clearer  hght  upon  the  face.  Ashamed  to  show  the  ten- 
derness that  filled  his  honest  heart,  he  hummed  "  King- 
dom Coming,"  while  relighting  his  cigar,  and  presently 
began  to  talk  again. 

"  Now,  then,  Flint,  it's  your  turn  to  keep  guard,  and 
Thorn  s  to  tell  his  romance.  Come,  don't  try  to  shirk  ; 
it  does  a  man  good  to  talk  of  such  things,  and  we  're  all 
mates  here." 

"  In  some  cases  it  don't  do  an}^  good  to  talk  of  such 
tilings  ;  better  let  'em  alone,"  muttered  Thorn,  as  he  re- 
luctantly sat  down,  while  Flint  as  reluctantly  departed. 

With  a  glance  and  gesture  of  real  affection,  Phil  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  comrade's  knee,  saving  in  his  per- 
suasive voice,  "  Old  fellow,  it  will  do  you  good,  because 
I  know  you  often  long  to  speak  of  something  that 
weighs  upon  you.  You've  kept  us  steady  many  a 
time,  and  done  us  no  end  of  kindnesses;  why  be  too 


132  PROVERB   STORIES. 

proud  to  let  us  give  our  sympatln^  in  return,  if  nothing 
more  ?  " 

Thorn's  big  hand  closed  over  the  slender  one  upon 
his  knee,  and  the  mild  expression,  so  rarelj'  seen  upon 
his  face,  passed  over  it  as  he  replied,  — 

"I  think  I  could  tell  you  almost  anything  if  you 
asked  me  that  wa}',  my  boy.  It  is  n't  that  I  am  too 
proud,  —  and  you  're  right  about  m}'  sometimes  wanting 
to  free  my  mind,  —  but  it 's  because  a  man  of  forty  don't 
.just  like  to  open  out  to  young  fellows,  if  there  is  any 
danger  of  their  laughing  at  him,  though  he  ma}'  deserve 
it.  I  guess  there  is  n't  now,  and  I  '11  tell  you  how  I 
found  my  wife." 

Dick  sat  up,  and  Phil  drew  nearer,  for  the  earnest- 
ness that  was  in  the  man  dignified  his  plain  speech,  and 
inspired  an  interest  in  his  history,  even  before  it  was 
begun.  Looking  gravel}^  at  the  river  and  never  at  his 
hearers,  as  if  still  a  little  sh}'  of  confidants,  yet  grateful 
for  the  relief  of  words.  Thorn  began  abruptly  :  — 

"I  never  hear  the  number  eighty- four  without  clap- 
ping my  hand  to  my  left  breast  and  missing  my  badge. 
You  know  I  was  on  the  police  in  New  York,  before  the 
war,  and  that 's  about  all  you  do  know  3'et.  One  bitter 
cold  night  I  was  going  my  rounds  for  the  last  time, 
when,  as  I  turned  a  corner,  I  saw  there  was  a  trifle  of 
work  to  be  done.  It  was  a  bad  part  of  the  city,  full  of 
dirt  and  deviltr}' ;  one  of  the  streets  led  to  a  ferr}',  and 
at  the  corner  an  old  woman  had  an  apple-stall.  The 
poor  soul  had  dropped  asleep,  worn  out  with  the  cold, 
and  there  were  her  goods  left  with  no  one  to  watch  'em. 
Somebod}^  was  watching  'em,  however ;  a  girl,  with  a 
ragged  shawl  over  her  head,  stood  at  the  mouth  of  an 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  133 

alley  close  b}^  waiting  for  a  chance  to  grab  something. 
I'd  seen  her  there  when  I  went  b}^  before,  and  mis- 
trusted she  was  up  to  some  mischief;  as  I  turned  the 
corner,  she  put  out  her  hand  and  cribbed  an  apple. 
She  saw  me  the  minute  she  did  it,  but  neither  dropped 
it  nor  ran,  only  stood  stock  still  with  the  apple  in  her 
hand  till  I  came  up. 

"  'This  won't  do,  m}-  girl,'  said  I.  I  never  could  be 
harsh  with  'em,  poor  things !  She  laid  it  back  and 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  miserable  sort  of  a  smile,  that 
made  me  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  to  fish  for  a  nine- 
pence  before  she  spoke. 

"  '  I  know  it  won't,'  she  says.  '  I  did  n't  want  to  do 
it,  it 's  so  mean,  but  I  'm  awful  hungry,  sir.' 

'' '  Better  run  home  and  get  your  supper,  then.* 

"  '  I  've  got  no  home.' 

^' '  Where  do  you  live?' 

"  'In  the  street.' 

' '  '  Where  do  you  sleep  ? ' 

*' '  Anj'where  ;  last  night  in  the  lock-up,  and  I  thought 
I  'd  get  in  there  again,  if  I  did  that  when  you  saw  me. 
I  like  to  go  there,  it 's  warm  and  safe.' 

''  '  If  I  don't  take  you  there,  what  will  you  do?  ' 

''  'Don't  know.  I  could  go  over  there  and  dance 
again  as  I  used  to,  but  being  sick  has  made  me  ugly, 
so  the}^  won't  have  me,  and  no  one  else  will  take  me 
because  I  have  been  there  once.' 

"  I  looked  where  she  pointed,  and  thanked  the  Lord 
that  they  would  n't  take  her.  It  was  one  of  those  low 
theatres  that  do  so  much  damage  to  the  like  of  her ; 
tliere  was  a  gambling  place  one  side  of  it,  an  eating 
saloon  the  other.     I  was  new  to  the  work  then,  but 


134  PROVERB   STORIE:s. 

though  I  'd  heard  about  hunger  and  homelessness  often 
enough,  I  'd  never  had  this  sort  of  thing,  nor  seen  that 
look  on  a  girl's  face.  A  white,  pinched  face  hers  was, 
with  frightened,  tired-looking  eyes,  but  so  innocent ! 
She  was  n't  more  than  sixteen,  had  been  prett}'  once,  I 
saw,  looked  sick  and  starved  now,  and  seemed  just  the 
most  helpless,  hopeless  little  thing  that  ever  was. 

' '  '  You  'd  better  come  to  the  Station  for  to-night,  and 
we  '11  see  to  you  to-morrow,'  says  I. 

"  '  Thank  you,  sir,  '  saj'S  she,  looking  as  grateful  as 
if  I  'd  asked  her  home.  I  suppose  I  did  speak  kind  of 
fatherly.  I  ain't  ashamed  to  say  I  felt  so,  seeing  what 
a  child  she  was  ;  nor  to  own  that  when  she  put  her  little 
hand  in  mine,  it  hurt  me  to  feel  how  thin  and  cold  it 
was.  We  passed  the  eating-house  where  the  red  lights 
made  her  face  as  rosy  as  it  ought  to  have  been  ;  there 
was  meat  and  pies  in  the  window,  and  the  poor  thing 
stopped  to  look.  It  was  too  much  for  her  ;  off  came  her 
shawl,  and  she  said  in  that  coaxing  wa}^  of  hers,  — 

"  '  I  wish  you'd  let  me  stop  at  the  place  close  by  and 
sell  this  ;  they  '11  give  a  little  for  it,  and  I  '11  get  some 
supper.  I  've  had  nothing  since  j'esterda}^  morning, 
and  maj^be  cold  is  easier  to  bear  than  hunger.' 

"'Have  you  nothing  better  than  that  to  sell?'  I 
sa^^s,  not  quite  sure  that  she  was  n't  all  a  humbug,  like 
so  man}^  of  'em.  She  seemed  to  see  that,  and  looked 
up  at  me  again  with  such  innocent  e3^es,  I  could  n't 
doubt  her  when  she  said,  shivering  with  something 
beside  the  cold,  — 

"'Nothing  but  myself.'  Then  the  tears  came,  and 
she  laid  her  head  down  on  ni}'-  arm,  sobbing,  — '  Keep 
me  !  oh,  do  keep  me  safe  somewhere  ! '" 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  135 

Thorn  cboked  here,  steadied  his  voice  with  a  resolute 
hem  !  but  could  only  add  one  sentence  more,  — 

''  That's  how  I  found  my  wife." 

"  Come,  don't  stop  thar.  I  told  the  whole  o'  mine, 
you  do  the  snme.  Whar  did  you  take  her?  how  'd  it  all 
come  round?  " 

''Please  tell  us.  Thorn." 

The  gentler  request  was  answered  presentl}',  very 
stead il}^,  very  quietly. 

"  I  was  alwa^'s  a  soft-hearted  fellow,  though  you 
would  n't  think  it  now,  and  when  that  little  girl  asked 
me  to  keep  her  safe,  I  just  did  it.  I  took  her  to  a  good 
woman  whom  I  knew,  for  I  had  n't  an}^  women  fo\ks  be- 
longing to  me,  nor  any  place  but  that  to  put  her  in.  She 
stayed  there  till  spring  working  for  her  keep,  growing 
brighter,  prettier,  every  day,  and  fonder  of  me,  I  thought. 
If  I  believed  in  witchcraft,  I  should  n't  think  myself 
such  a  fool  as  I  do  now,  but  I  don't  believe  in  it,  and 
to  this  day  I  can't  understand  how  I  came  to  do  it.  To 
be  sure  I  was  a  lonel}'  man,  without  kith  or  kin,  had 
never  had  a  sweetheart  in  my  life,  or  been  much  with 
women  since  my  mother  died.  Maybe  that 's  why  I 
was  so  bewitched  with  Marj^  for  she  had  little  ways 
with  her  that  took  your  fanc}^  and  made  you  love  her 
whether  you  would  or  no.  I  found  her  father  was  an 
honest  fellow  enough,  a  fiddler  in  some  theatre ;  that 
he  'd  taken  good  care  of  Mary  till  he  died,  leaving  pre- 
cious little  but  advice  for  her  to  live  on.  She  'd  tried  to 
get  work,  failed,  spent  all  she  had,  got  sick,  and  was 
going  to  the  bad,  as  the  poor  souls  can  hardly  help 
doing  with  so  man}'  read}^  to  give  them  a  shove.  It's 
no  use  trying  to  make  a  bad  job  better ;  so  the  long 


136  PROVERB  STORIES. 

and  short  of  it  was,  I  thought  she  loved  me ;  God 
knows  I  loved  her !  and  I  married  her  before  the  3'ear 
was  out." 

"  Show  US  her  picture  ;  I  know  you  've  got  one  ;  all 
the  fellows  have,  though  half  of 'em  won't  own  up." 

"I've  only  got  part  of  one.  I  once  saved  my  little 
girl,  and  her  picture  once  saved  me." 

From  an  inner  pocket  Thorn  produced  a  woman's 
housewife,  carefully  untied  it,  though  all  its  implements 
were  missing  but  a  little  thimble,  and  from  one  of  its 
compartments  took  a  flattened  bullet  and  the  remnants 
of  a  picture. 

' '- 1  gave  her  that  the  first  Christmas  after  I  found 
her.  She  was  n't  as  tidy  about  her  clothes  as  I  liked  to 
see,  and  I  thought  if  I  gave  her  a  handy  thing  hke  this, 
she  'd  be  willing  to  sew.  But  she  only  made  one  shirt 
for  me,  and  then  got  tired,  so  I  keep  it  like  an  old  fool, 
as  I  am.  Yes,  that 's  the  bit  of  lead  that  would  have 
done  for  me,  if  Mary's  likeness  had  n't  been  just  where 
it  was." 

"You'll  like  to  show  her  this  when  you  go  home, 
won't  you?  "  said  Dick,  as  he  took  up  the  bullet,  while 
Phil  examined  the  marred  picture,  and  Thorn  poised 
the  little  thimble  on  his  big  finger,  with  a  sigh. 

"How  can  I,  when  I  don't  know  where  she  is,  and 
camp  is  all  the  home  I  've  got !  " 

The  words  broke  from  him  like  a  sudden  groan,  when 
some  old  wound  is  rudel}^  touched.  Both  of  the  young 
men  started,  both  laid  back  the  relics  they  had  taken 
up,  and  turned  their  eyes  from  Thorn's  face,  across 
which  swept  a  look  of  shame  and  sorrow,  too  significant 
to  be  misunderstood.    Their  silence  assured  him  of  theii' 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  137 

S3'mpathy,  and,  as  if  that  touch  of  friendliness  un- 
locked his  heavy  heart,  he  eased  it  b}-  a  full  confession. 
When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  with  the  calmness  of  re- 
pressed emotion,  a  calmness  more  touching  to  his  mates 
than  the  most  passionate  outbreak,  the  most  pathetic 
lamentation  ;  for  the  coarse  camp-phrases  seemed  to 
drop  from  his  vocabular}' ;  more  than  once  his  softened 
voice  grew  tremulous,  and  to  the  words  "  m}'  little  girl," 
there  went  a  tenderness  that  proved  how  dear  a  place 
she  still  retained  in  that  deep  heart  of  his. 

"  Bo3'S,  I  've  gone  so  far  ;  I  may  as  well  finish ;  and 
you  '11  see  I  'm  not  without  some  cause  for  my  stern 
looks  and  wa^  s  ;  3-ou  '11  pit}^  me,  and  from  you  I  '11  take 
the  comfort  of  it.  It's  onl}^  the  old  story,  —  I  married 
her,  worked  for  her,  lived  for  her,  and  kept  my  little 
girl  like  a  lady.  I  should  have  known  that  I  was  too 
old  and  sober  for  a  3'oung  thing  like  that,  for  the  life  she 
led  before  the  pinch  came  just  suited  her.  She  liked  to 
be  admired,  to  dress  and  dance  and  make  herself  pretty 
for  all  the  world  to  see ;  not  to  keep  house  for  a  quiet 
man  like  me.  Idleness  wasn't  good  for  her,  it  bred 
discontent ;  then  some  of  her  old  friends,  who  'd  left  her 
in  her  trouble,  found  her  out  when  better  times  came 
round,  and  tried  to  get  her  back  again.  I  was  awa}'  all 
da}^  I  did  n't  know  how  things  w^ere  going,  and  she 
was  n't  open  with  me,  afraid  she  said  ;  I  was  so  grave, 
and  hated  theatres  so.  She  got  courage  finally  to  tel] 
me  that  she  was  n't  happ}^ ;  that  she  wanted  to  dance 
again,  and  asked  me  if  she  might  n't.  I  'd  rather  have 
had  her  ask  me  to  put  her  in  a  fire,  for  I  did  hate 
theatres,  and  was  bred  to ;  others  think  they  're  no 
harm.     I  do  ;  and  knew  it  was  a  bad  life  foi  a  girl  like 


138  PROVERB  STORIES. 

mine.  It  pampers  vanity,  and  vanit}^  is  the  Devil's 
iielp  witli  sucli ;  so  I  said  No,  kindly-  at  first,  sharp  and 
stern  when  she  kept  on  teasing.  That  roused  her  spirit. 
'  I  will  go  ! '  she  said,  one  day.  '  Not  while  you  are  my 
wife,'  I  answered  back  ;  and  neither  said  any  more,  but 
she  gave  me  a  look  I  did  n't  think  she  could,  and  I 
resolved  to  take  her  away  from  temptation  before  worse 
came  of  it. 

"tl  did  n't  tell  her  m}^  plan  ;  but  I  resigned  my  place,' 
spent  a  week  or  more  finding  and  fixing  a  little  home 
for  her  out  in  the  wliolesome  countr}',  where  she  'd  be 
safe  from  theatres  and  disreputable  friends,  and  maybe 
learn  to  love  me  better  when  she  saw  how  much  she 
was  to  me.  It  was  coming  summer,  and  I  made  things 
look  as  home-like  and  as  prett}'  as  I  could.  She  liked 
flowers,  and  I  fixed  a  garden  for  her ;  she  was  fond  of 
pets,  and  I  got  her  a  bird,  a  kitten,  and  a  dog  to  play 
with  her  ;  she  fancied  ga}' colors  and  tasty  little  matters, 
so  I  filled  her  rooms  with  all  the  handsome  things  I 
could  afford,  and  when  it  was  done,  I  was  as  pleased 
as  any  boy,  thinking  what  happy  times  we  'd  have  to- 
gether and  how  pleased  she  'd  be.  Boj'S,  when  I  went 
to  tell  her  and  to  take  her  to  her  little  home,  she  was 
gone." 

"Who  with?" 

' '  A¥ith  those  cursed  friends  of  hers  ;  a  part}'  of  them 
3eft  the  cit}^  just  then  ;  she  was  wild  to  go ;  she  had 
money  now,  and  all  her  good  looks  back  again.  Thc}'^ 
teased  and  tempted  her ;  I  was  n't  there  to  keep  her, 
and  she  went,  leaving  a  line  behind  to  tell  me  that  she 
ioved  the  old  life  more  than  the  new ;  that  my  house 
was  a  prison,  and  she  hoped  I'd  let  her  go  in  p^i-^ice- 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  139 

That  almost  killed  me  ;  but  I  managed  to  bear  it,  for  I 
knew  most  of  the  fault  was  mine ;  but  it  was  awful 
bitter  to  think  I  had  n't  saved  her,  after  all." 

''  Oh,  Tliorn  !  what  did  you  do?  " 

"Went  straight  after  her;  found  her  dancing  in 
Philadelphia,  with  paint  on  her  cheeks,  trinlvcts  on  her 
neck  and  arms,  looking  prettier  than  ever ;  but  the 
innocent  eyes  were  gone,  and  I  could  n't  see  my  little 
girl  in  the  bold,  handsome  woman  twirling  there  before 
the  footlights.  She  saw  me,  looked  scared  at  first,  then 
smiled,  and  danced  on  with  her  eyes  upon  me,  as  if  she 
said,  — 

"  '  See  !  I  'm  happy  now ;  go  away  and  let  me  be.' 

"I  could  n't  stand  that,  and  got  out  somehow.  Peo- 
ple thought  me  mad,  or  drunk ;  I  did  n't  care,  I  onl}^ 
wanted  to  see  her  once  in  quiet  and  try  to  get  her  home. 
I  could  n't  do  it  then  nor  afterwards  hj  fair  means,  and 
I  would  n't  try  force.  I  wrote  to  her,  promised  to  for- 
give her,  begged  her  to  come  back,  or  let  me  keep 
her  honestly  somewhere  awa}'  from  me.  But  she  never 
answered,  never  came,  and  I  have  never  tried  again." 

"  She  was  n't  worthy  of  3'ou,  Thorn  ;  jom  jest  forgit 
her." 

"I  wish  I  could!  I  wish  I  could!"  In  his  voice 
quivered  an  almost  passionate  regret,  and  a  great  sob 
heaved  his  chest,  as  he  turned  his  face  awaj^  to  hide  the 
love  and  longing,  still  so  tender  and  so  strong. 

''  Don't  say  that,  Dick  ;  such  fidelit}'  should  make  us 
charitable  for  its  own  sake.  There  is  alwa3^s  time  for 
penitence,  always  certainty  of  pardon.  Take  heart, 
Thorn,  you  may  not  wait  in  vain,  and  she  may  yet  re- 
turn to  you." 


140  PROVERB  STORIES. 


II 


I  know  she  will !  I  've  dreamed  of  it,  1  've  pra3'ed 
for  it ;  every  battle  I  come  out  of  safe  makes  me  surer 
that  I  was  kept  for  that,  and  when  I  've  borne  enough 
to  atone  for  m}"  part  of  the  fault,  I  '11  be  repaid  for  all' 
m}'  patience,  all  my  pain,  by  finding  her  again.  She 
knows  how  well  I  love  her  still,  and  if  there  comes  a 
time  when  she  is  sick  and  poor  and  all  alone  again,  then 
she  '11  remember  her  old  John,  then  she  '11  come  home 
and  let  me  take  her  in." 

Hope  shone  in  Thorn's  melanchoty  eyes,  and  long- 
suffering,  all-forgiving  love  beautified  the  rough,  brown 
face,  as  he  folded  his  arms  and  bent  his  gra}^  head  on 
his  breast,  as  if  the  wanderer  were  already  come. 

The  emotion  which  Dick  scorned  to  show  on  his  own 
account  was  freelj^  manifested  for  another,  as  he  sniffed 
audibl}',  and,  bo3^-like,  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  e^^es. 
But  Phil,  with  the  delicate  perception  of  a  finer  nature, 
felt  that  the  truest  kindness  he  could  show  his  friend 
was  to  distract  his  thoughts  from  himself,  to  spare  him 
any  comments,  and  lessen  the  embarrassment  which 
would  surel}^  follow  such  unwonted  confidence. 

"  Now  I  '11  relieve  Flint,  and  he  will  give  3'ou  a  laugh. 
Come  on,  Hiram,  and  tell  us  about  your  Beulah." 

The  gentleman  addressed  had  performed  his  duty  b3^ 
sitting  on  a  fence  and  "righting  up"  his  pockets,  to 
beguile  the  tedium  of  his  exile.  Before  his  multitudi- 
nous possessions  could  be  restored  to  their  native  sphere, 
Thorn  was  himself  again,  and  on  his  feet. 

"  Sta}'  where  you  are,  Phil ;  I  like  to  tramp,  it  seems 
like  old  times,  and  I  know  you  're  tired.  Just  forget 
all  this  I  've  been  saying,  and  go  on  as  before.  Thank 
you,  bo3's !  thank   3'ou,"  and  with  a  grasp  of  the  two 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  141 

hands  extended  to  him,  he  strode  away  along  the  path 
ah'cad}^  worn  by  his  own  restless  feet. 

"  It 's  done  him  good,  and  I  'm  glad  of  that ;  but  I  'd 
like  to  see  the  little  baggage  that  bewitched  the  poor  old 
bo}^,  would  n't  3'ou,  Phil?  " 

"Hush!  here 's  Flint." 

"  What 's  up  naow  ?  want  me  tew  address  the  meeting 
hey?  I'm  willin',  only  the  laugh's  ruther  ag'inst  me, 
ef  I  tell  that  story  ;  expect  you  '11  like  it  all  the  better 
fer  that."  Flint  coiled  up  his  long  limbs,  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  chewed  meditatively  for  a  moment,  and 
then  began,  with  his  slowest  drawl :  — 

"Waal,  sir,  it's  pretty  nigh  ten  j^ear  ago,  I  was 
daraster  daown  tew  Oldtaown,  clos't  to  Banggore.  My 
folks  lived  tew  Bethel ;  there  was  only  the  old  man,  and 
Aunt  Siloam,  keepin'  house  fer  him,  seein'  as  I  was 
the  only  chick  he  hed.  I  hed  n't  beared  from  'em  fer  a 
long  spell,  when  there  come  a  letter  say  in'  the  old  man 
was  breakin'  np.  He  'd  said  it  ever}'  spring  fer  a 
number  er  years,  and  I  did  n't  mind  it  no  more  'n  the 
breakin'  up  er  the  river  ;  not  so  much,  jest  then  ;  fer  the 
gret  spring  drive  was  comin'  on,  and  my  hands  was  tew 
full  to  quit  work  all  tew  oncet.  I  sent  word  I  'd  be 
'long  'fore  a  gret  while,  and  byme-b}^  I  went.  I  ought 
tew  hev  gone  at  fust ;  but  thej^  'd  sung  aout  '  Wolf ! '  so 
often  I  warn't  scared ;  an'  sure  'nuff  the  wolf  did  come 
at  last.  Father  hed  been  dead  and  berried  a  week  when 
I  got  there,  and  aunt  was  so  mad  she  would  n't  write, 
nor  scurcely  speak  tew  me  for  a  consider'ble  spell.  I 
did  n't  blame  her  a  mite,  and  felt  jest  the  wust  kind  ; 
so  I  give  in  every  way,  and  fetched  her  raound.  Yeou 
see  I  hed  a  cousin  who  'd  kind  er  took  my  place  tew 


142  PROVERB  STORIES. 

hum  while  I  Tvas  off,  an'  the  old  man  bed  left  him  a  good 
shce  er  his  money,  an'  me  the  farm,  hopiu'  to  keep  me 
there       He'd  never  liked  the  lumberin'  bizness,  an^ 
Lankwed  arfter  me  a  sight,  I  laound.     W^al,  seen, 
haow  't  was,  I  tried  tew  please  him,  late  as  it  was  ;   but 
ef  there  was  ennylhing  I  did  spleen  ag'inst  it  was  farm- 
in',  'specially  arfter  the  smart  times  I  'd  ben  heym  ,  up 
Oldtaown  way.      Yeou  don't  know  nothin'  abaout  it; 
but  ef  yeou  want  tew  see  high  dewin's,  jest  hitch  onto  a 
timber-driye  an'  go  it  daown  along  them  Lakes  and  riyers, 
sav  from  Kaumchenung.amooth  tew  Punnobscot  Bay. 
Guess  yeou  'd  see  a  thing  or  tew,  an'  find  liyin'  on  a  log 
come  as  handy  as  ef  you  was  born  a  turtle. 

"  Waal,  I  stood  it  one  summer  ;  but  it  was  the  long- 
est kind  of  a  job.     Come  fall  I  turned  contry   darned 
the  farm,  and  yaowed  I'd  go  back  tew  loggm  .     Aunt 
bed  got  fond  er  me  by  that  time,  and  felt  dreadful  bad 
abaout  my  leayin'  on  her.     Cousin  Siah,  as  .0  called 
JoXh,  did  n't  cotton  tew  the  old  woman,  though  he  did 
tw  hel.  cash  ;  but  we  hitched  along  fust-rate      She  was 
'tached  tew  the   place,  hated  tew  hey  it  let  oi   sold, 
t  ou'ht  I'd  go  to  everlastin'  rewin  ef  I  took  tew  um- 
b  rin'  ag'in,  an'  heyin'  a  tidy  little  sum  er  money  aU  her 
oZ  sh'e  tJok  a  notion  tew  buy  me  off.     '  llu-am     se. 
she    'ef  yeou '11  stay  to  hum,  merry  some  smart  girl, 
an'  kerry  on  the  farm,  I'll  leaye  yeou  the  hull  er  my 
fortin.     Ef  yeou  don't,  I'll  leaye  eyery  cent  on 't  tew 
Siah,  though  he  ain't  done  as  waal  by  me  as  yeou  hev 
Con .,'  sez  she,  '  1  'm  l.reakin'  up  like  brother ;  I  sha    t 
wurry  any  one  a  gret  .l,ile,  and  'fore  spring  I  dessa, 
you'U  hey  cause  tew  rejice  that  yeou  done  as  Aunt  bi 
counselled  yeou.' 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  143 

*'  Now,  that  idee  kinder  took  me,  seein'  I  bed  n't  no 
overpaourin'  love  fer  cousin ;  but  I  brewdid  over  it  a 
spell  'fore  I  'greed.  Fin'll}',  I  said  I'd  dew  it,  as  it 
warn't  a  hard  nor  a  bad  trade  ;  and  begun  to  look 
raound  fer  Mis  Flint,  Jr.  Aunt  was  dreadf  1  pleased  ; 
but  'mazin  pertickler  as  tew  who  was  goin'  tew  stan'  in 
her  shoes,  when  she  was  fetched  up  ag'inst  the  etarnal 
boom.  There  was  a  sight  er  likely  women-folks  raound 
taown  ;  but  aunt  she  set  her  foot  daown  that  Mis  Flint 
must  be  smart,  pious,  an  good-natered ;  harnsome  she 
did  n't  sa}'  nothin'  abaout,  bein'  the  humliest  woman  in 
le  State  er  Maine.  I  hed  my  own  calk'lations  on  that 
'p'int,  an'  went  sparkin'  two  or  three  er  the  pootiest  gals, 
all  that  winter.  I  warn't  in  no  hurr}^,  fer  merryin'  is 
an  awful  resk}-  bizness  ;  an'  I  wan't  goan  to  be  took  in 
by  nobudd}'.  Some  haouw  I  could  n't  make  up  my  mind 
which  I  'd  hev,  and  kept  dodgin',  all  ready  to  slew 
raound,  an'  hitch  on  tew  ary  one  that  seemed  likeliest. 
'Long  in  March,  Aunt,  she  ketched  cold,  took  tew  her 
bed,  got  wuss,  an'  told  me  tew  hurry  up,  fer  nar}^  cent 
should  I  hev,  ef  I  warn't  safely  merried  'fore  she  stepped 
out.  I  thought  that  was  ruther  craoudin'  a  feller ;  but 
I  see  she  was  goan  sure,  an'  I  'd  got  inter  a  way  er  con- 
siderin'  the  cash  mine,  so  that  it  come  hard  to  hear 
abaout  givin'  on  't  up.  Off  I  went  that  evenin'  an'  asked 
Almiry  Nash  ef  she  'd  hev  me.  No,  she  would  n't ;  I  'd 
shillj-shallyed  so  long,  she  'd  got  tired  er  waitin'  and 
took  tew  keepin'  compan}^  with  a  doctor  daown  ter 
Banggore,  where  she'd  ben  visitin'  a  spell.  I  didn't 
find  that  as  hard  a  nub  to  swaller,  as  I  'd  a  thought  I 
would,  though  Almiry  was  the  richest,  pootiest,  and 
good-naterest  of  the  lot.     Aunt  larfed  waal,  an'  told  me 


144  PROVERB  STORIES. 

tew  try  ag'in  ;  so  a  couple  er  niglits  arfter,  I  spruced  up, 
an'  went  over  to  Car'line  Miles's  ;  she  was  as  smart  as 
old  cheese,  an'  waal  off  mtew  the  barg'in.  I  was  just 
as  sure  she'd  hev  me,  as  I  be  that  I  'm  gittin'  the  rew- 
matiz  a  settin'  in  this  ma'sh.  But  that  minx,  Almiry, 
hed  ben  and  let  on  abaout  her  own  sarsy  way  er  servin' 
on  me,  an'  Car'line  jest  up  an'  said  she  warn't  goan  to 
hev  annybuddy's  leavin's  ;  so  daown  I  come  ag'in. 

*'  Things  was  gettin'  desper't  by  that  time  ;  fer  aunt 
was  failin'  rapid,  an'  the  story  hed  leaked  aout  some 
way,  so  the  hull  taown  was  gigglin'  over  it.  I  thought 
I'd  better  quit  them  parts;  but  aunt  she  showed  me 
her  will  all  done  complete,  'sceptin  the  fust  name  er  the 
legatee.  'There,'  sez  she,  'it  all  depends  on  yeoii, 
whether  that  place  is  took  by  Hiram  or  Josiah.  It 's 
easy  done,  an'  so  it's  goan  tew  stan  till  the  last  minit.' 
That  riled  me  consid'able,  an'  I  streaked  off  tew  May 
Jane  Simlin's.  She  wan't  very  waal  off,  nor  extra 
harnsome,  but  she  was  pious  the  worst  kind,  an'  dreadf  1 
clever  to  them  she  fancied.  But  I  was  daown  on  my 
luck  ag'in  ;  fer  at  the  fust  word  I  spoke  of  merry  in',  she 
showed  me  the  door,  an'  give  me  to  understan'  that  she 
could  n't  think  er  hevin'  a  man  that  warn't  a  church- 
member,  that  had  n't  experienced  religion,  or  even  ben 
struck  with  conviction,  an'  all  the  rest  on  't.  Ef  anny 
one  hed  a  wanted  tew  hev  seen  a  walkin'  hornet's  nest, 
they  could  hev  done  it  cheap  that  night,  as  I  went 
hum.  I  jest  bounced  intew  the  kitchen,  chucked  my 
hat  intew  one  corner,  my  coat  intew  'notlier,  kicked  the 
cat,  cussed  the  fire,  drawed  up  a  chair,  and  set  scaouUn' 
like  sixty,  bein'  tew  mad  fer  talkin'.  The  young  woman 
that  was  nussin'  aunt,  —  Bcwlah  Blish,  by  name,  —  was 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  145 

a  cooking  grewel  on  the  coals,  and  'peared  tew  under- 
stan'  the  mess  I  was  in;  bnt  she  didn't  say  nothin', 
only  blowed  up  the  fire,  fetched  me  a  mug  er  cider,.. an' 
went  raound  so  kinder  quiet,  and  sympathizin',  that  I 
found  the  wrinkles  in  my  temper  gettin'  smoothed  aout 
'mazin'  quick ;  an'  'fore  long  I  made  a  clean  breast  er 
the  hull  thing.  Bewlah  larfed,  but  I  did  n't  mind  her 
doin'  on  't,  for  she  sez,  sez  she,  real  sort  o'  cunnin',  — 

"'Poor  Hiram!  they  didn't  use  jqow  waal.  Yeou 
ought  to  hev  tried  some  er  the  poor  an'  huml}^  girls  ; 
they  'd  a  been  glad  an'  grateful  fer  such  a  sweetheart 
as  yeou  be.' 

"  I  was  good-natered  ag'in  by  that  time,  an'  I  sez, 
larfin'  along  with  her,  '  Waal,  I  've  got  three  mittens, 
but  I  guess  I  might 's  waal  hev  'nother,  and  that  will  make 
two  pair  complete.     Say,  Bewlah,  will  5'eou  hev  me? ' 

"  'Yes,  I  will,'  sez  she. 

"  'Reelly?'  sez  I. 

*'  '  Solemn  trew,'  sez  she. 

"  Ef  she  'd  up  an'  slapped  me  in  the  face,  I  should  n't 
hev  ben  more  throwed  aback,  fer  I  never  mistrusted  she 
cared  two  chips  for  me.  I  jest  set  an'  gawped  ;  fer  she 
was  '  solemn  trew,'  I  see  that  with  half  an  eye,  an'  it 
kinder  took  m}^  breath  awa}^  Bewlah  drawed  the 
grewel  off  the  fire,  wiped  her  hands,  an'  stood  lookin'  at 
me  a  minuet,  then  she  sez,  slow  an'  quiet,  but  tremblin' 
a  little,  as  women  hev  a  way  er  doin',  when  they've 
consid'able  steam  aboard,  — 

"  '  Hiram,  other  folks  think  lumberin'  has  spilt  yeou  ; 

/  don't ;  the}"  call  3'ou  rough  an'  rewd  ;  /  know  you  've 

got  a  real  kind  heart  fer  them  as  knows  haow  tew  find 

it.     Them  girls  give  yeou  up  so  eas^',  'cause  they  never 

10 


146  PROVERB  STORIES. 

loved  3'eon,  an'  ycou  give  them  up  'cause  you  only 
thought  abaout  their  looks  an'  mone3\  I  'm  huml^-,  an' 
I  'm  poor  ;  but  I  've  loved  yeou  ever  sence  we  went  a- 
nuttin'  3'ears  ago,  an'  yeou  shook  daown  fer  me,  kerried 
my  bag,  and  kissed  me  tew  the  gate,  when  all  the  others 
shunned  me,  'cause  my  father  drank  an'  I  was  shabby- 
dressed,  ugi}^,  an'  shy.  Yeou  asked  me  in  sport,  I 
answered  in  airnest ;  but  I  don't  expect  nothin'  unless 
yeou  mean  as  I  mean.  Like  me,  Iliram,  or  leave  me, 
it  won't  make  no  odds  in  my  lovin'  of  yeou,  nor  helpin' 
of  3'eou,  ef  I  kin.' 

'''T  ain't  easy  tew  sa}^  haouw  I  felt,  while  she  was 
goin'  on  that  wa}" ,  but  m}'  idees  was  tumbUn'  raound 
inside  er  me,  as  ef  half  a  dozen  dams  was  broke  loose 
all  tew  oncet.  One  thing  was  ruther  stiddier  'n  the 
rest,  an'  that  was  that  I  liked  Bevvlah  more  'n  I  knew. 
I  begun  tew  see  what  kep'  me  loafin'  tew  hum  so  much, 
sence  aunt  was  took  daown  ;  wh}'  I  wan't  in  no  hurry 
tew  git  them  other  gals,  an'  haow  I  come  tew  pocket  m}' 
mittens  so  easy  arfter  the  fust  rile  was  over.  Bewlah 
was  humly,  poor  in  flesh,  dreadful  freckled,  hed  red 
hair,  black  e3^es,  an'  a  gret  mold  side  of  her  nose.  But 
I'd  got  wonted  tew  her  ;^  she  knowed  m}'  ways,  was  a 
fust  rate  housekeeper,  real  good-tempered,  and  pious 
without  flingin'  on  't  in  yev  face.  IShe  was  a  lonely 
creeter,  —  her  folks  bein'  all  dead  but  one  sister,  who 
did  n't  use  her  waal,  an'  somehow  I  kinder  ^-earned  over 
her,  as  they  say  in  Scripter.  P^or  all  1  set  an'  gawped, 
I  was  coming  raound  fast,  though  I  felt  as  I  used  tew, 
when  I  was  goin'  to  shoot  the  rapids,  kinder  breathhss 
an'  oncertin,  whether  I  'd  come  aout  i-ight  side  up  or  not 
Queer,  warn't  it?  " 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  1-1:7 

^'  Love,  Flint ;  that  was  a  sure  symptom  of  it." 

"  AVaal,  guess  'twas  ;  an3'way  I  jumped  up  all  of  a 
sudden,  ketched  Bewlali  raound  the  neck,  give  her  a 
hearty  kiss,  and  sung  aout,  '  I  '11  dew  it  sure  's  my 
name  's  Hi  Flint ! '  The  words  w^as  scarcely  out  of  my 
inaouth,  'fore  daown  come  Dr.  Parr.  He  'd  ben  up  tew 
see  aunt,  an'  said  she  would  n't  last  the  night  threw, 
prob'ly.  That  give  me  a  scare  er  the  wust  kind ;  an' 
when  I  told  doctor  haow  things  was,  he  sez,  kinder 
jokin',  — 

"  '  Better  git  merried  right  away,  then.  Parson  Dill 
is  tew  come  an'  see  the  old  lady,  an'  he  '11  dew  both  jobs 
tew  oncet.' 

"  '  Will  3^eou,  Bewlah? '  sez  I. 

*'  'Yes,  Hiram,  to  'blige  yeou,'  sez  she. 

"With  that,  I  put  it  fer  the  license;  got  it,  an 
was  back  in  less  'n  half  an  haour,  most  tuckered 
aout  with  the  flurr}-  of  the  hull  concern.  Quick  as 
I  'd  been,  Bewlah  hed  faound  time  tew  whip  on  her 
best  gaoun,  fix  up  her  hair,  and  put  a  couple  er  white 
chrissanthj^mums  intew  her  hand' chif  pin.  Fer  the  fust 
time  in  her  life,  she  looked  harnsome,  —  leastways  1 
thought  so,  —  with  a  prett}'  color  in  her  cheeks,  some- 
thin'  brighter  'n  a  larf  shinin'  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips 
smilin'  an'  tremblin',  as  she  come  to  me  an'  whispered 
so  's  't  none  er  the  rest  could  hear,  — 

"  'Hiram,  don't  yeou  dew  it,  ef  yeou 'd  ruthor  not. 
I  've  stood  it  a  gret  while  alone,  an'  I  guess  I  can 
ag'in.' 

"  Never  j^eou  mind  what  I  said  or  done  abaout  that ; 
but  we  was  merried  ten  minutes  arfter,  'fore  the  kitchen 
fire,  with  Dr.  Parr  an'  aour  hired  man,  fer  witnesses  j 


148  PROVERB   STORIES. 

an'  then  we  all  went  np  tew  aunt.  She  was  goan  fast, 
but  she  understood  what  I  told  her,  hed  strength  tew  fill 
up  the  hole  in  the  will,  an'  to  sa}',  a-kissin'  Bewlah, 
'  Yeou  '11  be  a  good  wife,  an'  naow  3'eou  ain't  a  poor 
one.' 

"  I  could  n't  help  givin'  a  peek  tew  the  will,  and  there 
I  see  not  Hiram  Flint  nor  Josiah  Flint,  but  Bewlah 
Flint,  wrote  every  which  wa^^,  but  as  plain  as  the  nose 
on  yer  face.  '  It  won't  make  no  odds,  dear,'  whispered 
m}^  wife,  peekin'  over  mj^  shoulder.  '  Guess  it  won't !  ' 
sez  I,  aout  laoud  ;  '  I  'm  glad  on  't,  and  it  ain't  a  cent 
more  'n  j^eou  derserve.' 

"  That  pleased  aunt.  '  Riz  me,  Hiram,'  sez  she  ;  an' 
when  I  'd  got  her  easy,  she  put  her  old  arms  raound  m}' 
neck,  an'  tried  to  say,  'God  bless  you,  dear — ,'  but 
died  a  doin'  of  it ;  an'  I  ain't  ashamed  tew  sa}^  I  boo- 
hooed  real  hearty,  when  I  laid  her  daown,  fer  she  was 
dreadf'l  good  tew  me,  an'  I  don't  forgit  her  in  a  hurry.'' 

"  How  's  Bewlah?  "  asked  Dick,  after  the  little  tribute 
Df  respect  all  paid  to  Aunt  Siloam's  memory,  by  a  mo- 
mentarj^  silence. 

"  Fust-rate  !  that  harum-scarum  venter  er  mine  was 
the  best  I  ever  made.  She  's  done  waal  b}'  me,  lies 
Bewlah ;  ben  a  grand  good  haousekeeper,  kin  kerry  on 
the  farm  better  'n  me,  any  time,  an'  is  as  dutif'l  an'  lov- 
in'  a  wife  as,  —  waal,  as  ann^'thing  that  is  extra  dutif'l 
and  lovin'." 

' '  Got  an}'  boys  to  brag  of  ?  " 

"We  don't  think  much  o'  bo3's  daown  aour  way; 
they  're  'mazin'  resk}-  stock  to  fetch  up,  —  alluz  breakin' 
baounds,  gittin'  intew  the  paound,  and  wurryin'  30ur 
life   aout  somehaow  'nother.      Gals   naow  doos  waal; 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  149 

I  Ve  got  six  o'  the  likeliest  the  is  goin',  every  one  on 
'em  is  the  veiy  moral  of  Bewlah,  —  red  hair,  black  ej'es, 
quiet  waj^s,  an'  a  mold  'side  the  nose.  Baby's  ain't 
gro'.ved  yet ;  but  I  expect  tew  see  it  in  a  consid'able 
state  o'  forrardness,  when  I  git  hum,  an'  would  n't  miss 
it  fer  the  world." 

The  droll  expression  of  Flint's  face,  and  the  satisfied 
twang  of  his  last  words,  were  iiTesistible.  Dick  and 
Phil  went  off  into  a  shout  of  laughter  ;  and  even  Thorn's 
grave  lips  relapsed  into  a  smile  at  the  vision  of  six  little 
Flints  with  their  six  little  moles.  As  if  the  act  were  an 
estabhshed  ceremon}^,  the  ' '  paternal  head  "  produced 
his  pocket-book,  selected  a  worn  black-and-white  paper, 
which  he  spread  in  his  broad  palm,  and  displaced  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  There,  thet  's  Bewlah  !  we  call  it  a  cuttin' ;  but  the 
l^roper  name  's  a  sill3'-hoot,  I  b'leeve.  I  've  got  a  harn- 
some  big  degarrytype  tew  hum,  but  the  heft  on  't  makes 
it  bad  tew  keny  raound,  so  I  took  this.  I  don't  tote  it 
abaout  inside  m}^  shirt,  as  some  dew,  —  it  ain't  my  way  ; 
but  I  keep  it  in  my  wallet  long  with  my  other  valleu'bles, 
and  guess  I  set  as  much  store  by  it  as  ef  it  was  all 
painted  up,  and  done  off  to  kill." 

The  "  sillj^-hoot"  was  examined  with  interest,  and 
carefully  stowed  away  again  in  the  old  brown  wallet, 
which  was  settled  in  its  place  with  a  satisfied  &lap  ;  then 
Flint  said  briskl}-,  — 

"  Naouw,  Phil,  3'eou  close  this  iuterestin'  and  in- 
structive meeting ;  and  be  spry,  fer  time  's  most  up." 

"  I  have  n't  much  to  tell,  but  must  begin  with  a  con- 
fession which  I  have  often  longed  but  never  dared  to 
oiake  before,  because  I  am  a  coward." 


150  PROVERB    STORIES. 

''  Sho !  who  's  goan  to  b'lceve  that  o'  a  maii  who  fit 
like  a  wild-cat,  wiiz  offered  permotion  on  the  field,  and 
reported  tew  headquarters  arfter  his  fust  scrimmage. 
Try  ag'in,  Phil." 

"  Physical  courage  is  as  plentiful  as  brass  buttons, 
nowadays,  but  moral  courage  is  a  rarer  virtue  ;  and  I  'm 
lacking  in  it,  as  I  '11  prove.  You  think  me  a  Virginian  ; 
I  'm  an  Alabamian  by  birth,  and  was  a  Rebel  three 
months  ago." 

This  confession  startled  his  hearers,  as  he  knew  it 
would,  for  he  had  kept  his  secret  well.  Thorn  laid  his 
hand  involuntarily  upon  his  rifle,  Dick  drew  off  a  little, 
and  Flint  illustrated  one  of  his  own  expressions,  for  he 
"  gawped."  Phil  laughed  that  musical  laugh  of  his,  and 
looked  up  at  them  with  his  dark  face  waking  into  sudden 
life,  as  he  went  on  :  — 

"  There  's  no  treason  in  the  camp,  for  I  'm  as  fierce 
a  Federalist  as  any  of  3'ou  now,  and  3'ou  ma}'  thank  a 
woman  for  it.  AVhen  Lee  made  his  raid  into  Penns3'l- 
vania,  I  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  —  well,  never  mind 
what  regiment,  it  has  n't  signalized  itself  since,  and  I  'd 
rather  not  hit  m\'  old  neighbors  when  they  are  down. 
In  one  of  the  skirmishes  during  our  retreat,  I  got  a 
wound  and  was  left  for  dead.  A  kind  old  Quaker  found 
and  took  me  home  ;  but  though  I  was  too  weak  to  talk, 
I  had  my  senses  by  that  time,  and  knew  what  wont  on 
about  me.  Everything  was  in  confusion,  even  in  that 
well-ordered  place  ;  no  surgeon  could  be  got  at  first, 
.^nd  a  flock  of  frightened  women  thee'd  and  thou'd  one 
•tnother  over  me,  but  had  n't  wit  enough  to  see  that  I 
was  bleeding  to  death.  Among  the  faces  that  danced 
before  my  dizzy  e3'es  was  one  that  seemed  familiar, 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  151 

pro])abl3'  because  no  cap  sniToiindcd  it.  I  was  glad 
to  have  it  bending  over  me,  to  hear  a  steady  voice  sa}-, 
'  Give  me  a  bandage,  quick ! '  and  when  none  was 
instantly  forthcoming  to  me,  the  young  lady  stripped 
up  a  little  white  apron  she  wore,  and  stanched  the 
wound  in  m}^  shoulder.  I  was  not  as  badty  hurt  as  I 
supposed,  but  so  w^orn-out,  and  faint  from  loss  of  blood, 
the}^  believed  me  to  be  dying,  and  so  did  I,  when  the 
old  man  took  off  his  hat  and  said,  — 

"'Friend,  if  thee  has  anything  to  say,  thee  had 
better  sa}^  it,  for  th^e  probabl}^  has  not  long  to  live.' 

"  I  thought  of  m}'  little  sister,  far  awa}^  in  Alabama, 
fancied  she  came  to  me,  and  muttered,  '  Amy,  kiss  me 
good-by.'  The  women  sobbed  at  that ;  but  the  girl 
bent  her  sweet  compassionate  face  to  mine,  and  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead.     That  was  my  wife." 

' '  So  you  seceded  from  Secession  right  away,  to  pay 
for  that  lip-service,  hey?" 

"No,  Thorn,  not  right  away,  —  to  my  shame  be  it 
spoken.  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  came  about.  Margaret 
was  not  old  Bent's  daughter,  but  a  Massachusetts  girl  on 
a  visit,  and  a  long  one  it  proved,  for  she  could  n't  go  till 
things  were  quieter.  While  she  waited,  she  helped  take 
care  of  me  ;  for  the  good  souls  petted  me  like  a  baby 
when  the}^  found  that  a  Rebel  could  be  a  gentleman.  I 
held  m}^  tongue,  and  behaved  m}^  best  to  prove  my 
gratitude,  you  know.  Of  course,  I  loved  Margaret 
very  soon.  How  could  I  help  it?  She  was  the  sweet- 
est woman  I  had  ever  seen,  tender,  frank,  and  spirited ; 
all  I  had  ever  dreamed  of  and  longed  for.  I  did  not 
speak  of  this,  nor  hope  for  a  return,  because  I  knew  she 
was  a  hearty  Unionist,  and  thought  she  onlj'  tended  me 


152  PROVERB  STORIES. 

from  pity.  But  suddenly  she  decided  to  go  home,  and 
when  I  ventured  to  wish  she  would  staj'  longer,  she 
would  not  listen,  and  said,  '  I  must  not  sta}' ;  I  should 
have  gone  before.' 

"The  words  were  nothing,  but  as  she  uttered  them 
the  color  came  up  beautifully  over  all  her  face,  and  her 
eyes  filled  as  they  looked  away  from  mine.  Then  I 
knew  that  she  loved  me,  and  my  secret  broke  out 
against  my  will.  Margaret  was  forced  to  listen,  for  I 
would  not  let  her  go,  but  she  seemed  to  harden  herself 
against  me,  growing  colder,  stiller,  statelier,  as  I  went 
on,  and  when  I  said  in  my  desperate  wa}',  — 

"  'You  should  love  me,  for  we  are  bid  to  love  our 
enemies,'  she  flashed  an  indignant  look  at  me  and 
said,  — 

"  '  I  will  not  love  what  I  cannot  respect !  Come  to 
me  a  loyal  man,  and  see  what  answer  I  shall  give 
you.' 

"  Then  she  went  away.  It  was  the  wisest  thing  she 
could  have  done,  for  absence  did  more  to  change  me 
than  an  ocean  of  tears,  a  year  of  exhortations.  L3ing 
there,  I  missed  her  every  hour  of  the  da}',  recalled  every 
gentle  act,  kind  word,  and  fair  example  she  had  given 
me.  I  contrasted  my  own  belief  with  hers,  and  found 
a  new  significance  in  the  words  honesty  and  honor,  and, 
remembering  her  fidelity  to  principle,  was  ashamed 
of  m}'  own  treason  to  God  and  to  herself.  Educa- 
tion, prejudice,  and  interest,  are  difficult  things  to  over- 
come, and  that  was  the  hottest  fight  I  ever  passed 
through,  for  as  I  tell  you,  I  was  a  coward.  But  love 
and  loyalty  won  the  da}',  and,  asking  no  quarter,  the 
Rebel  surrendered." 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  153 

*'Phil  Beaufort,  3'oa're  a  brick!"  cried  Dick,  with 
a  sounding  slap  on  his  comrade's  shoulder. 

"  A  brand  snatched  from  the  burnin'.  Hallelujah  !  " 
chanted  Flint,  seesawing  with  excitement. 

' '  Then  3^ou  went  to  find  your  wife  ?  How  ?  Where  ?  " 
asked  Thorn,  forgetting  vigilance  in  interest. 

"Friend  Bent  hated  war  so  heartily  that  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  paroles,  exchanges,  or  an^^ 
martial  process  whatever,  but  bade  me  go  when  and 
where  I  liked,  remembering  to  do  b}^  others  as  I  had 
been  done  b}^  Before  I  was  well  enough  to  go,  how- 
ever, I  managed,  b}'  means  of  Copperhead  influence  and 
returned  prisoners,  to  send  a  letter  to  my  father  and 
receive  an  answer.  You  can  imagine  what  both  con- 
tained ;  and  so  I  found  myself  penniless,  but  not  poor, 
an  outcast,  but  not  alone.  Old  Bent  treated  me  like  a 
prodigal  son,  and  put  money  in  my  purse ;  his  pretty 
daughters  loved  me  for  Margaret's  sake,  and  gave 
me  a  patriotic  salute  all  round  when  I  left  them,  the 
humblest,  happiest  man  in  Pennsylvania.  Margaret 
once  said  to  me  that  this  was  the  time  for  deeds,  not 
words ;  that  no  man  should  stand  idle,  but  serve  the 
good  cause  with  head,  heart,  and  hand,  no  matter  in 
what  rank  ;  for  in  her  ej'es  a  private  fighting  for  libertj^ 
w^as  nobler  than  a  dozen  generals  defending  slavery.  I 
remembered  that,  and,  not  having  influential  friends  to 
get  me  a  commission,  enlisted  in  one  of  her  own  Massa- 
chusetts regiments,  knowing  that  no  act  of  mine  would 
prove  m\"  sincerity'  like  that.  You  should  have  seen  her 
face  when  I  walked  in  upon  her,  as  she  sat  alone,  busied 
with  the  army  work,  as  I  'd  so  often  seen  her  sitting  by 
my  bed ;    it  showed  me  all  she  had   been  suflTering  in 


154  PROVERB   STORIES. 

silence,  all  I  should  have  lost  had  I  chosen  darkness 
instead  of  light.  She  hoped  and  feared  so  much  she 
could  not  speak,  neither  could  I,  but  dropped  ni}^  cloak, 
and  showed  her  that,  through  love  of  her,  I  had  become 
a  soldier  of  the  Union.  How  1  love  the  coarse  blue  uni- 
form !  for  when  she  saw  it,  she  came  to  me  without  a 
word  and  kept  her  promise  in  a  month." 

"Thunder!  what  a  harnsome  w^oman  !  "  exclaimed 
Flint,  as  Phil,  opening  the  golden  case  that  held  his 
talisman,  showed  them  the  beautiful,  beloved  face  of 
which  he  spoke. 

''  Yes  !  and  a  right  noble  woman  too.  I  don't  deserve 
her,  but  I  will.  We  parted  on  our  w-edding-day,  for 
orders  to  be  off  came  suddenl}',  and  she  would  not  let 
me  go  until  I  had  given  her  my  name  to  keep.  We 
were  married  in  the  morning,  and  at  noon  I  had  to  go. 
Other  women  wept  as  we  marched  through  the  cit}^, 
but  my  brave  Margaret  kept  her  tears  till  we  were  gone, 
smiling  and  waving  her  hand  to  me,  —  the  hand  that 
wore  the  wedding-ring,  —  till  I  was  out  of  sight.  That 
image  of  her  is  before  me  day  and  night,  and  da}'  and 
night  her  last  words  are  ringing  in  m}-  ears,  — 

"  '  I  give  3'ou  freel}^,  do  your  best.  Better  a  true 
man's  widow  than  a  traitor's  wife.' 

''  Boys,  I  've  onl}^  stood  on  the  right  side  for  a  month  ; 
I  've  only  fought  one  battle,  earned  one  honor ;  but  I 
believe  these  poor  acliievements  are  an  earnest  of  the 
long  atonement  I  desire  to  make  for  livc-and-twenty 
years  of  blind  transgression.  You  sav  I  fight  well. 
Have  I  not  cause  to  dare  much? — for  in  owning  many 
slaves,  I  too  became  a  slave  ;  in  helping  to  make  many 
freemen,    I   liberate  myself.     You  w^onder  why  I   re- 


ON  PICKET  DUTY.  155 

fused  promotion.  Have  I  any  right  to  it  3'ct?  Are 
tliere  not  men  who  never  sinned  as  I  have  done,  and 
beside  whose  sacrifices  mine  look  pitifully  small?  You 
tell  me  I  have  no  ambition.  I  have  the  highest,  for  I 
desire  to  become  God's  noblest  work,  —  an  honest  man, 
—  living,  to  make  Margaret  happy  in  a  love  that  every 
hour  grows  worthier  of  her  own,  — dying  to  make  death 
proud  to  take  me." 

Phil  had  risen  while  he  spoke,  as  if  the  enthusiam  of 
his  mood  lifted  him  into  the  truer  manhood  he  aspired 
to  attain.  Straight  and  strong  he  stood  up  in  the  moon- 
light, his  voice  deepened  by  unwonted  energy,  his  eye 
clear  and  steadfast,  his  whole  face  ennobled  by  the  re- 
generating power  of  this  late  loj'alt}^  to  countr}-,  wife, 
and  self,  and  bright  against  the  dark  blue  of  his  jacket 
shone  the  pictured  face,  the  only  medal  he  was  proud 
to  wear. 

Ah,  brave,  brief  moment,  cancelling  years  of  wrong ! 
Ah,  fair  and  fatal  decoration,  serving  as  a  mark  for  a 
hidden  foe  !  The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  broke  the  still- 
ness of  the  night,  and  with  those  hopeful  words  upon 
his  lips,  the  young  man  sealed  his  purpose  with  his 
life. 


THE   BARON'S    GLOVES; 

OR, 

AMY'S  ROMANCE. 

"All  is  fair  in  love  and  war." 


HOW  THEY  WERE   FOUND. 

''  l^HAT  a  long  sigh  !     Are  joii  tired,  Amy  ?  " 
"Yes,   and    disappointed  as  well.     I    n 


never 


would  have  undertaken  this  joarne3'  if  I  had  not  thou-ht 
It  would  be  full  of  novelty,  romance,  and  charmin^  ad- 
ventures." ° 

"  Well,  we  have  had  several  adventures." 
"  Bah !  losing  one's  hat  in  the  Rhine,  getting  left  at 
a  dirty  little  inn,  and  having  our  pockets  picked"^  are  not 
what  I  call  adventures.  I  wish  there  were  brigands  in 
Germany  —  it  needs  something  of  that  sort  to  enliven  its 
stupiditj'." 

"  How  can  you  call  Germany  stupid  when  vou  have  a 
scene  like  this  before  you?"  said  Helen,  with  a  sioh  of 
pleasure,  as  she  looked  from  the  balcony  which  over- 
hangs  the  Rhine  at  the  hotel  of  the  -  Three  Kings"  at 
Coblentz.  Ehrenbreitstein  towered  opposite,  the\)road 
river  glittered  below,  and  a  midsunnner  moon  lent  its 
enchantment  to  the  landscape. 

As  she  spoke,  her  companion  half  rose  from  the  low 
chair  where  she  lounged,  and  showed  the  pretty,  piquant 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  157 

face  of  a  young  girl.  She  seemed  in  a  half  melancholy, 
half  petulant  mood ;  and  traces  of  recent  illness  were 
visible  in  the  languor  of  her  movements  and  the  pallor 
of  her  cheeks. 

''Yes,  it  is  lovely;  but  I  want  adventures  and 
romance  of  some  sort  to  make  it  quite  perfect.  I  don't 
care  what,  if  something  would  only  happen." 

"My  dear,  3'ou  are  out  of  spirits  and  wear}^  now, 
to-morrow  3^ou'll  be  yourself  again.  Do  not  be  un- 
grateful to  uncle  or  unjust  to  3'ourself.  Something 
pleasant  will  happen,  I  've  no  doubt.  In  fact,  some- 
thing has  happened  that  3'ou  ma}^  make  a  little  romance 
out  of,  perhaps,  for  lack  of  a  more  thrilling  adventure." 

"What  do  3^ou  mean?"  and  Amy's  listless  face 
brightened. 

"Speak  low;  there  are  balconies  all  about  us,  and 
we  may  be  overheard,"  said  Helen,  drawing  nearer  after 
an  upward  glance. 

"  What  is  the  beginning  of  a  romance?"  whispered 
Amy,  eagerly. 

"  A  pair  of  gloves.  Just  now,  as  I  stood  here,  and 
you  la}^  with  yoxxv  eyes  shut,  these  dropped  from  the 
balcony-  overhead.  Now  amuse  yourself  by  weaving  a 
romance  out  of  them  and  their  owner." 

Amy  seized  them,  and  stepping  inside  the  window, 
examined  them  by  the  candle. 

"  A  gentleman's  gloves,  scented  with  violets  !  Here  's 
a  little  hole  fretted  by  a  ring  on  the  third  finger.  Bless 
me !  here  are  the  initials,  '  S.  P.,'  stamped  on  the  in- 
side, with  a  coat  of  arms  below.  What  a  fop  to  get  up 
his  gloves  in  this  style !  They  are  exquisite,  though. 
Such  a  delicate  color,  so  little  soiled,  and  so  prettily 


158  PROVERB  STORIES. 

ornamented  !     Handsome  hands  wore  these.     I  'd  ILlve 
to  see  the  man." 

Helen  laughed  at  the  girl's  interest,  and  was  satisfied 
if  an}'  trifle  amused  her  ennui. 

"  I  will  send  them  back  b}'^  the  kellner,  and  in  that 
wa}'  we  may  discover  their  owner,"  she  said. 

But  Amy  arrested  her  on  the  wa}'  to  the  door. 

"  I  've  a  better  plan  ;  these  waiters  are  so  stupid 
you  '11  get  nothing  out  of  them.  Here  's  the  hotel  book 
sent  up  for  our  names  ;  let  us  look  among  the  da3-'s  ar- 
rivals and  see  who  '  S.  P.'  is.  He  came  to-daj^,  I'm 
sure,  for  the  man  said  the  rooms  above  were  just  taken, 
so  we  could  not  have  them." 

Opening  the  big  book,  Amy  was  soon  intentl}'  poring 
over  the  long  hst  of  names,  written  in  many  hands  and 
manj'  languages. 

"  I  've  got  it !  Here  he  is  —  oh,  Nell,  he  's  a  baron  ! 
Is  n't  that  charming  ?  '  Sigismund  von  Palsdorf,  Dres- 
den.' We  must  see  him,  for  I  know  he  's  handsome,  if 
he  wears  such  distracting  gloves." 

"  You'd  better  take  them  up  yourself,  then." 

''  You  know  I  can't  do  that ;  but  I  shall  ask  the  man 
a  few  questions,  just  to  get  an  idea  what  sort  of  person 
the  baron  is.  Then  I  shall  change  ni}-  mind  and  go 
down  to  dinner ;  shall  look  well  about  me,  and  if  the 
baron  is  agreeable  I  shall  make  uncle  return  the  gloves. 
He  will  thank  us,  and  I  can  say  I  've  known  a  real 
baron.  That  will  be  so  nice  when  we  go  home.  Now, 
don't  be  duennaish  and  sa}- 1  'm  sill}',  but  let  me  do  as  I 
like,  and  come  and  dress." 

Helen  submitted,  and  when  the  gong  pealed  through 
the  house,  Major  Erskine  marched  into  the  great  salle  a 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  159 

manner,  with  a  comely  niece  on  each  arm.  The  long 
tables  were  crowded,  and  they  had  to  run  the  gauntlet 
of  many  eyes  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  head  of  the 
upper  table.  Before  she  touched  her  soup,  Amy  glanced 
down  the  line  of  faces  opposite,  and  finding  none  that 
answered  the  slight  description  elicited  from  the  waiter, 
she  leaned  a  little  forward  to  examine  those  on  her  own 
side  of  the  table.  Some  way  down  sat  several  gentle- 
men, and  as  she  bent  to  observe  them,  one  did  the 
same,  and  she  received  an  admiring  glance  from  a  pair 
of  fine  black  eyes.  Somewhat  abashed,  she  busied  her- 
self with  her  soup  ;  but  the  fancy  had  taken  possession 
of  her,  and  presently  she  whispered  to  Helen,  — 

' '  Do  you  see  any  signs  of  the  baron  ?  " 

*'  On  my  left ;  look  at  the  hands." 

Amy  looked  and  saw  a  white,  shapely  hand  with  an 
antique  ring  on  the  third  finger.  Its  owner's  face 
was  averted,  but  as  he  conversed  with  animation,  the 
hand  was  in  full  pla}^,  now  emphasizing  an  opinion,  now 
lifting  a  glass,  or  more  frequentl}^  pulling  at  a  blond 
beard  which  adorned  the  face  of  the  unknown.  Amy 
shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  I  hate  light  men,  and  don't  think  that  is  the  baron, 
for  the  gloves  are  a  size  too  small  for  those  hands. 
Lean  back  and  look  some  four  or  five  seats  lower  down 
on  the  right.  See  what  sort  of  person  the  dark  man 
with  the  fine  eyes  is." 

Helen  obeyed,  but  almost  instantly  bent  to  her  plate 
again,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  That  is  an  Englishman  ;  he  stares  rudel}',  says  '  By 
Jove  ! '  and  wears  no  jewelry  or  beard." 

*'  Now,  I  'm  disappointed.     Well,  keep  on  the  watch, 


160  PROVERB  STORIES. 

and  tell  me  if  you  make  any  discoveries,  for  I  will  find 
the  baron." 

Being  hungry,  Am}^  devoted  herself  to  her  dinner,  till 
dessert  was  on  the  table.  She  was  languidly  eating 
grapes,  while  Helen  talked  with  the  major,  when  the 
word  "  baron  "  caught  her  ear.  The  speakers  sat  at  a 
table  behind  her,  so  that  she  could  not  see  them  with- 
out turning  quite  round,  which  was  impossible  ;  but  she 
listened  eagerly  to  the  following  scrap  of  chat :  — 

''Is  the  baron  going  on  to-morrow?"  asked  a  gay 
voice  in  French. 

"Yes,  he  is  bound  for  Baden-Baden.  The  season  is 
at  its  height,  and  he  must  make  his  game  while  the  ball 
is  rolling,  or  it  is  all  up  with  the  open-handed  Sigis- 
mund,"  answered  a  rough  voice. 

"Won't  his  father  pardon  the  last  escapade?  "  asked 
a  third,  with  a  laugh. 

"  No,  and  he  is  right.  The  duel  was  a  bad  affair, 
for  the  man  almost  died,  and  the  baron  barely  managed 
to  get  out  of  the  scrape  through  court  influence.  When 
is  the  wedding  to  be  ?  " 

"Never,  Palsdorf  sa3^s.  There  is  everj'thing  but 
love  in  the  bargain,  and  he  swears  he  '11  not  agree  to  it. 
I  like  that." 

"  There  is  much  nobleness  in  him,  spite  of  his  vaga- 
ries. He  will  sow  his  wild  oats  and  make  a  grand  man 
in  time.  B}^  the  by,  if  we  are  going  to  the  fortress,  we 
must  be  off.  Give  Sigismund  the  word ;  he  is  dining 
at  the  other  table  with  Power,"  said  the  gay  voice. 

"  Take  a  look  at  the  prett}^  English  girl  as  3'ou  go 
by  ;  it  will  do  your  ay  as  good,  after  the  fat  Frauleins  we 
have  seen  of  late,"  added  the  rough  one. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  161 

Three  gentlemen  rose,  and  as  tlie}^  passed  Amy  stole 
a  glance  at  them  ;  but  seeing  several  pairs  of  eyes  fixed 
on  herself,  she  turned  away  blushing,  with  the  not 
unpleasant  consciousness  that  "the  pretty  English 
girl"  was  herself.  Longing  to  see  which  Sigismund 
was,  she  ventured  to  look  after  the  young  men,  who 
paused  behind  the  man  with  the  blond  beard,  and 
also  touched  the  dark-e^^ed  gentleman  on  the  shoulder. 
All  five  went  down  the  hall  and  stood  talking  near  the 
door. 

"  Uncle,  I  wish  to  go,"  said  Amy,  whose  will  was  law 
to  the  amiable  major.  Up  he  rose,  and  Amy  added,  as 
she  took  his  arm,  "I'm  seized  with  a  longing  to  go  to 
Baden-Baden  and  see  a  little  gambling.  You  are  not  a 
wild  young  man,  so  3'ou  can  be  trusted  there." 

"I  hope  so.  Now  you  are  a  sensible  little  woman, 
and  we  '11  do  our  best  to  have  a  gay  time.  Wait  an  in- 
stant till  I  get  m}^  hat." 

While  the  major  searched  for  the  missing  article  the 
girls  went  on,  and  coming  to  the  door.  Amy  tried  to 
open  it.  The  unwiekty  foreign  lock  resisted  her  eflforts, 
and  she  was  just  giving  it  an  impatient  little  shake,  when 
a  voice  said  behind  her,  — 

"  Permit  me,  mademoiselle  ;  "  at  the  same  moment  a 
handsome  hand  turned  the  latch,  the  flash  of  a  diamond 
shone  before  her,  and  the  door  opened. 

"  J^m,  monsieur, ^^  she  murmured,  turning  as  she 
went  out ;  but  Helen  was  close  behind  her,  and  no  one 
else  to  be  seen  except  the  massive  major  in  the  rear. 

"  Did  3^ou  see  the  baron?"  she  whispered  eagerh^,  as 
they  went  up-stairs. 

*'  No  ;  where  was  he?  " 

11 


162  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Pie  opened  the  door  for  me.  I  knew  him  bj-  his 
hand  and  ring.     He  was  close  to  3'ou." 

"I  did  not  observe  him,  being  busy  gathering  up 
my  dress.  I  thought  the  person  was  a  waiter,  and 
never  looked  at  him,"  said  Helen,  with  provoking  in- 
difference. 

''  How  unfortunate  !  Uncle,  you  are  going  to  see  the 
fortress ;  we  don't  care  for  it ;  but  I  want  3'ou  to  take 
these  gloves  and  inquire  for  Baron  Sigismund  Palsdorf. 
He  will  be  there  with  a  party  of  gentlemen.  You  can 
easily  manage  it,  men  are  so  free  and  eas3\  Mind 
what  he  is  like,  and  come  home  in  time  to  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

Away  went  the  major,  and  the  cousins  sat  on  the 
balcony  enjoying  the  lovely  night,  admiring  the  pictur- 
esque scene,  and  indulging  in  the  flights  of  fanc}^  all 
girls  love,  for  Helen,  in  spite  of  her  three-and-twenty 
years,  was  as  romantic  as  Am}"  at  eighteen.  It  was 
past  eleven  when  the  major  came,  and  the  only  greeting 
he  received  was  the  breathless  question,  — 

''Did  you  find  him?" 

"  I  found  something  much  better  than  any  baron,  a 
courier.  I  've  wanted  one  ever  since  we  started ;  for 
two  young  ladies  and  their  baggage  are  more  than  one 
man  can  do  his  duty  by.  Karl  Hoffman  had  such  ex- 
cellent testimonials  from  persons  I  know,  that  I  did  not 
hesitate  to  engage  him,  and  he  comes  to-morrow ;  so 
henceforth  I've  nothing  to  do  but  devote  mj'self  to 
you." 

"How  very -provoking !  Did  you  bring  the  gloves 
back?"  asked  Amy,  still  absorbed  in  the  baron. 

The  major  tossed   them  to  her,  and  indulged   in  a 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  163 

hearty  laugh  at  her  girUsh  regrets ;  then  bade  them 
good-night,  and  went  away  to  give  orders  for  an  early 
start  next  morning. 

Tired  of  talking,  the  girls  lay  down  in  the  two  little 
white  beds  alwa3^s  found  in  German  hotels,  and  Amy 
was  soon  continuing  in  sleep  the  romance  she  had  be- 
gun awake.  She  dreamed  that  the  baron  proved  to  be 
the  owner  of  the  fine  eyes  ;  that  he  wooed  and  won  her, 
and  they  were  floating  down  the  river  to  the  chime  of 
wedding-bells. 

At  this  rapturous  climax  she  woke  to  find  the  air  full 
of  music,  and  to  see  Helen  standing  taU  and  white  in 
the  moonlight  that  streamed  in  at  the  open  window. 

"Hush,  hide  behind  the  curtains  and  listen;  it's  a 
serenade,"  whispered  Helen,  as  Amy  stole  to  her  side. 

Shrouded  in  the  drapery,  they  leaned  and  Ustened  till 
the  song  ended,  then  Amy  peeped ;  a  dark  gi'oup  stood 
below ;  all  were  bareheaded,  and  now  seemed  whisper- 
ing together.  Presently  a  single  voice  rose,  singing  an 
exquisite  little  French  canzonet,  the  refrain  of  which 
was  a  passionate  repetition  of  the  word  '■' Amie."  She 
thought  she  recognized  the  voice,  and  the  sound  of  her 
own  name  uttered  in  such  ardent  tones  made  her  heart 
beat  and  her  color  rise,  for  it  seemed  to  signify  that  the 
serenade  was  for  them.  As  the  last  melodious  murmur 
ceased,  there  came  a  stifled  laugh  from  below,  and 
something  fell  into  the  balcony.  Neither  dared  stir  till 
the  sound  of  departing  feet  reassured  them  ;  then  creep- 
ing forward  Amy  drew  in  a  lovely  bouquet  of  myrtle, 
roses,  and  great  German  forget-me-nots,  tied  with  a 
white  ribbon  and  addressed  in  a  dashing  hand  to  La 
belle  Helene. 


164  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Upon  my  life,  the  romance  has  begun  in  earnest," 
laughed  Helen,  as  she  examined  the  flowers.  "  You 
are  serenaded  by  some  unknown  nightingale,  and  I 
have  flowers  tossed  up  to  me  in  the  charming  old  style. 
Of  course  it  is  the  baron.  Amy." 

'^I  hope  so;  but  whoever  it  is,  they  are  regular 
troubadours,  and  I'm  dehghted.  I  know  the  gloves 
will  bring  us  fun  of  some  kind.  Do  you  take  one  and 
I  '11  take  the  other,  and  see  who  will  find  the  baron 
first.     Is  n't  it  odd  that  thej^  knew  our  names  ?  " 

"Amy,  the  writing  on  this  card  is  very  like  that  in 
the  big  book.  I  ma}-  be  bewitched  by  this  mid-summer 
moonlight,  but  it  really  is  very  like  it.  Come  and 
see." 

The  two  charming  heads  bent  over  the  card,  looking 
all  the  more  charming  for  the  dishevelled  curls  and 
braids  that  hung  about  them  as  the  girls  laughed  and 
whispered  together  in  the  softly  brilliant  light  that  filled 
the  room. 

"You  are  right;  it  is  the  same.  The  men  who 
stared  so  at  dinner  are  gay  students  perhaps,  and  read}' 
for  any  prank.  Don't  tell  uncle,  but  let  us  see  what 
will  come  of  it.  I  begin  to  enjoy  myself  heartily  now  — 
don't  you?"  said  Amy,  laying  her  glove  carefully 
away. 

"I  enjoyed  mj^self  before,  but  I  think  '  Za  helle 
Helene^  gives  an  added  relish  to  life,  Amie^"  laughed 
Nell,  putting  her  flowers  in  water ;  and  then  both  went 
back  to  their  pillows,  to  dream  dehghtfully  till  morning. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES,  165 

II. 

KARL,    THE   COURIER. 

''  Three  days,  at  least,  before  we  reach  Baden.  How 
tiresome  it  is  that  uncle  won't  go  faster ! "  said  Am}^, 
as  she  tied  on  her  hat  next  morning,  wondering  as  she 
did  so  if  the  baron  would  take  the  same  boat. 

''  As  adventures  have  begun,  I  feel  assured  that  they 
will  continue  to  cheer  the  wa}^ ;  so  resign  yourself  and 
be  ready  for  anything,"  replied  Helen,  carefully  arrang- 
ing her  bouquet  in  her  travelling-basket. 

A  tap  at  the  door,  which  stood  half  open,  made  both 
look  up.  A  tall,  brown,  gentlemanly  man,  in  a  gray 
suit,  with  a  leathern  bag  slung  over  his  shoulder,  stood 
there,  hat  in  hand,  and  meeting  Helen's  eyes,  bowed 
respectfully,  saying  in  good  English,  but  with  a  strong 
German  accent,  — 

"  Ladies,  the  major  desired  me  to  tell  you  the  carriage 
waits." 

''  Why,  who  —  "  began  Amy,  staring  with  her  blue 
ej'es  full  of  wonder  at  the  stranger. 

He  bowed  again,  and  said,  simply,  — 

"  Karl  Hoffman,  at  your  service,  mademoiselle." 

' '  The  courier  —  oh,  yes  !  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Please 
take  these  things." 

And  Amy  began  to  hand  him  her  miscellaneous  col- 
lection of  bags,  books,  shawls  and  cushions. 

I'd  no  idea  couriers  were  such  decent  creatures," 
whispered  Amy,  as  they  followed  him  along  the  hall. 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  raptures  Mrs.  Mortimei 


166  PROVERB   STORIES. 

used  to  have  over  their  Italian  courier,  and  her  fiinn}' 
description  of  him  ?  '  Beautiful  to  behold,  with  a  night 
of  hair,  eyes  full  of  an  Infinite  tenderness,  and  a  sump- 
tuous cheek/  " 

Both  girls  laughed,  and  Amy  averred  that  Karl's  e^-es 
danced  with  merriment  as  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder, 
as  the  silvery  peal  sounded  behind  him. 

"Hush!  he  understands  English;  we  must  be  care- 
ful," said  Helen,  and  neither  spoke  again  tiU  thc}^ 
reached  the  carriage. 

Everything  was  ready,  and  as  they  drove  away,  the 
major,  leaning  luxuriousl3^  back,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Now  I  begin  to  enjoy  travelling,  for  I'm  no  longer 
worried  by  the  thought  of  luggage,  time-tables,  trains, 
and  the  everlasting  perplexity  of  thalers,  kreutzers,  and 
pfenniges.  This  man  is  a  treasure ;  ever3'thing  is 
done  in  the  best  manner,  and  his  knowledge  of  matters 
is  really  amazing." 

"He's  a  very  gentlemanlj^-looking  person,"  said 
Amy,  eying  a  decidedly  aristocratic  foot  through  the 
front  window  of  the  carriage,  for  Karl  sat  up  beside  the 
driver. 

"He  is  a  gentleman,  my  dear.  Many  of  these 
couriers  are  well  born  and  educated,  but,  being  poor, 
prefer  this  business  to  any  other,  as  it  gives  them 
variety,  and  often  pleasant  society.  I  've  had  a  long 
talk  with  Hoffman,  and  find  him  an  excellent  and  ac- 
complished fellow.  He  has  lost  his  fortune,  it  seems, 
through  no  fault  of  his  own,  so  being  fond  of  a  roving 
life,  turned  courier  for  a  time,  and  we  are  fortunate  to 
have  secured  him." 

"But  one   doesn't   know  how  to  treat  him,"  said 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  167 

Helen.  ''  I  don't  like  to  address  him  as  a  servant,  and 
yet  it 's  not  pleasant  to  order  a  gentleman  about." 

"Oh,  it  will  be  easy  enough  as  we  go  on  together. 
Just  call  him  Hoffman,  and  behave  as  if  you  knew  noth- 
ing about  his  past.  He  begged  me  not  to  mention  it, 
but  I  thought  you  'd  like  the  romance  of  the  thing. 
Only  don't  either  of  you  run  away  with  him,  as  Ponson- 
by's  daughter  did  with  her  courier,  who  was  n't  a  gen- 
tleman, by  the  way." 

"  Not  handsome  enough,"  said  Amy.  "  I  don't  like 
blue  eyes  and  black  hair.  His  manners  are  nice,  but 
he  looks  like  a  gipsy,  with  his  brown  face  and  black 
beard  :  does  n't  he,  Nell?" 

"Not  at  all.  Gipsies  haven't  that  style  of  face; 
they  are  thin,  sharp,  and  cunning  in  feature  as  in  nature. 
Hoffman  has  large,  well-moulded  features,  and  a  mild, 
manly  expression,  which  gives  one  confidence  in  him." 

"  He  has  a  keen,  wicked  look  in  his  blue  eyes,  as  you 
will  see,  Nell.  I  mean  mischievously,  not  malignantl}^ 
wicked.  He  likes  fun,  I  'm  sure,  for  he  laughed  about 
the  '  sumptuous  cheek '  till  his  own  were  red,  though  he 
dared  not  show  it,  and  was  as  grave  as  an  owl  when  we 
met  uncle,"  said  Amy,  smiling  at  the  recollection. 

"  We  shall  go  b}^  boat  to  Biebrich,  and  then  by  rail 
to  Heidelberg.  We  shall  get  in  late  to-morrow  night, 
but  can  rest  a  day,  and  then  on  to  Baden.  Here  we 
are  ;  now  make  yourselves  easy,  as  I  do,  and  let  Karl 
take  care  of  everything." 

And  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  the  major 
strolled  about  the  boat,  while  the  courier  made  matters 
comfortable  for  the  daj'.  So  easily-  and  well  did  lie  do 
his  duty,  that  both  girls  enjoyed  watching  him  after  he 


168  PROVERB  STORIES. 

had  established  them  on  the  shady  side  of  the  boat,  with 
camp-stools  for  their  feet,  cushions  to  lean  on,  books 
and  bags  laid  commodiously  at  hand. 

As  they  sailed  up  the  lovely  Rhine  they  grew  more 
and  more  enthusiastic  in  their  admiration  and  curiosity, 
and  finding  the  meagre  description  of  the  guide-books 
very  unsatisfactory.  Amy  begged  her  uncle  to  tell  her 
all  the  legends  of  picturesque  ruin,  rock  and  river,  as 
they  passed. 

"Bless  me,  child,  I  know  nothing  ;  but  here's  Hoff- 
man, a  German  born,  who  will  tell  you  everything,  I 
dare  say.  Karl,  what 's  that  old  castle  up  there  ?  The 
young  ladies  want  to  know  about  it." 

Leaning  on  the  railing,  Hoffman  told  the  story  so 
well  that  he  was  kept  explaining  and  describing  for  an 
hour,  and  when  he  went  awa}^  to  order  lunch,  Am}^  de- 
clared it  was  as  pleasant  as  reading  fairy  tales  to  listen 
to  his  dramatic  histories  and  legends. 

At  lunch  the  major  was  charmed  to  find  his  favorite 
wines  and  dishes  without  any  need  of  consulting 
dictionary  or  phrase-book  beforehand,  or  losing  his 
temper  in  vain  attempts  to  make  himself  under- 
stood. 

On  reaching  Biebrich,  tired  and  hungry,  at  nightfall, 
everything  was  ready  for  them,  and  all  went  to  bed 
praising  Karl,  the  courier,  though  Amy,  with  unusual 
prudence,  add^d, — 

"  He  is  a  new  broom  now  ;  let  us  wait  a  little  before 
we  judge." 

All  went  well  next  da}-  till  nightfall,  when  a  most  un- 
toward accident  occurred,  and  Helen's  adventures  began 
in   earnest.      The  three  occupied  a  coupe^   and  being 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  169 

weary  with  long  sitting,  Helen  got  out  at  one  of  the 
stations  where  the  train  paused  for  ten  minutes.  A 
rosy  sunset  tempted  her  to  the  end  of  the  platform,  and 
there  she  found,  what  nearly  all  foreign  railway  stations 
possess,  a  charming  little  garden. 

Amy  was  very  tired,  rather  cross,  and  passionatel}^ 
fond  of  flowers,  so  when  an  old  woman  offered  to  pull  a 
nosegay  for  "the  gracious  lady,"  Helen  gladly  waited 
for  it,  hoping  to  please  the  invalid.  Twice  the  whistle 
warned  her,  and  at  last  she  ran  back,  but  only  in  time 
to  see  the  train  move  awaj^,  with  her  uncle  gesticulat- 
ing wildly  to  the  guard,  who  shook  his  stupid  German 
head,  and  refused  to  see  the  dismayed  3^oung  lady  im- 
ploring him  to  wait  for  her. 

Just  as  the  train  was  vanishing  from  the  station,  a 
man  leaped  from  a  second-class  carriage  at  the  risk  of 
his  neck,  and  hurried  back  to  find  Helen  looking  pale 
and  bewildered,  as  well  she  might,  left  alone  and  money- 
less at  night  in  a  strange  town. 

"  Mademoiselle,  it  is  I ;  rest  easy  ;  we  can  soon  go 
on ;  a  train  passes  in  two  hours,  and  we  can  telegraph 
to  Heidelberg  that  they  may  not  fear  for  you." 

"Oh,  Hofl^man,  how  kind  of  j-ou  to  stop  for  me! 
What  should  I  have  done  without  3^ou,  for  uncle  takes 
care  of  all  the  money,  and  I  have  only  my  watch." 

Helen's  usual  self-possession  rather  failed  her  in  the 
flurry  of  the  moment,  and  she  caught  Karl's  arm  with  a 
feminine  little  gesture  of  confidence  very  pleasant  to  see. 
Leading  her  to  the  waiting-room,  he  ordered  supper, 
and  put  her  into  the  care  of  the  woman  of  the  place, 
while  he  went  to  make  inquiries  and  dispatch  the  tele- 
gram.   In  half  an  hour  he  was  back  again,  finding  Helen 


170  PROVERB  STORIES. 

refreshed  and  cheerful,  though  a  trace  of  anxiety  was 
still  visible  in  her  watchful  e^'es. 

"  All  goes  excellenth^,  mademoiselle.  I  have  sent 
word  to  several  posts  along  the  road  that  we  are  coming 
by  the  night  train,  so  that  Monsieur  le  Major  will  rest 
tranquil  till  we  meet.  It  is  best  that  I  give  3'ou  some 
money,  lest  such  a  mishap  should  again  occur ;  it  is  not 
likely  so  soon ;  nevertheless,  here  is  both  gold  and 
silver.  With  this,  one  can  make  one's  way  ever3^where. 
Now,  if  mademoiselle  will  permit  me  to  advise,  she  will 
rest  for  an  hour,  as  we  must  travel  till  dawn.  I  will 
keep  guard  without  and  watch  for  the  train." 

He  left  her,  and  having  made  herself  comfortable  on 
one  of  the  sofas,  she  lay  watching  the  tall  shadow  pass 
and  repass  door  and  window,  as  Karl  marched  up  and 
down  the  platform,  with  the  tireless  tramp  of  a  sentinel 
on  duty.  A  pleasant  sense  of  security  stole  over  her, 
and  with  a  smile  at  Amj^'s  enjoyment  of  the  adventure 
when  it  was  over,  Helen  fell  asleep. 

A  far-off  shriek  half  woke  her,  and  starting  up,  she 
turned  to  meet  the  courier  coming  in  to  wake  her.  Up 
thundered  the  train,  ever}^  carriage  apparentl}^  full  of 
sleepy  passengers,  and  the  guard  in  a  state  of  sullen 
wrath  at  some  delay,  the  consequences  of  which  would 
fall  heaviest  on  him. 

From  carriage  to  carriage  hurried  Karl  and  his  charge, 
to  be  met  with  everywhere  b}'  the  cr}',  "  All  full,"  in 
many  languages,  and  with  every  aspect  of  inhospitality. 
One  carriage  onl}^  showed  two  places ;  the  other  seats 
were  occupied  by  six  students,  who  gallantly  invited 
the  lady  to  enter.     But  Helen  shrunk  back,  sa3ing,  — 

"  Is  there  no  other  place  ?  " 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  171 

''  None,  mademoiselle  ;  this,  or  remain  till  morning," 
said  Karl. 

"  Where  will  yon  go  if  I  take  this  place  ?  " 

"Among  the  luggage,  —  anywhere;  it  is  nothing. 
But  we  must  decide  at  once." 

"Come  with  me;  I'm  afraid  to  be  locked  in  here 
alone,"  said  Helen,  desperate^. 

"  Mademoiselle  forgets  I  am  her  courier." 

"  I  do  not  forget  that  j^ou  are  a  gentleman.  Pray 
come  in  ;  m}'  uncle  will  thank  3'ou." 

"  I  will,"  and  with  a  sudden  brightening  of  the  eyes, 
a  grateful  glance,  and  an  air  of  redoubled  respect,  Hoff- 
man followed  her  into  the  carriage. 

They  were  off  at  once,  and  the  thing  was  done  before 
Helen  had  time  to  feel  anything  but  the  relief  which  the 
protection  of  his  presence  afforded  her. 

The  young  gentlemen  stared  at  the  veiled  lady  and 
her  grim  escort,  joked  under  their  breath,  and  looked 
wistfull}^  at  the  suppressed  cigars,  but  behaved  with 
exemplary  politeness  till  sleep  overpowered  them,  and 
one  after  the  other  dropped  off  asleep  to  dream  of  their 
respective  Gretchens. 

Helen  could  not  sleep,  and  for  hours  sat  studying  the 
unconscious  faces  before  her,  the  dim  landscape  flying 
past  the  windows,  or  forgot  herself  in  reveries. 

Hoffman  remained  motionless  and  silent,  except  when 
she  addressed  him,  wakeful  also,  and  assiduous  in  mak- 
ing the  long  night  as  easy  as  possible. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  Helen's  heavy  eyelids  were 
beginning  to  droop,  when  suddenly  there  came  an  awful 
crash,  a  pang  of  mortal  fear,  then  utter  oblivion. 

As  her  senses  returned  she  found  herself  lying  in  a 


172  PROVERB  STORIES. 

painful  position  under  what  had  been  the  roof  of  the 
car ;  something  lieavy  weighed  down  her  lower  limbs, 
and  her  dizz}'  brain  rung  with  a  wild  uproar  of  shrieks  and 
groans,  eager  voices,  the  crash  of  wood  and  iron,  and 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  engine,  as  it  rushed  away  for 
help. 

Through  the  darkness  she  heard  the  pant  as  of  some 
one  struggling  desperatel}^,  then  a  cry  close  by  her, 
followed  by  a  strong  voice  exclaiming,  in  an  agony  of 
suspense,  — 

''  My  God,  will  no  one  come  ! " 

"Hoffman,  are  you  there ? "  cried  Helen,  groping  in 
the  gloom,  with  a  thrill  of  joy  at  the  sound  of  a  familiar 
voice. 

"  Thank  heaven,  3'ou  are  safe.  Lie  still.  I  will  save 
you.  Help  is  coming.  Have  no  fear ! "  panted  the 
voice,  with  an  undertone  of  fervent  gratitude  in  its 
breathless  accents. 

' '  What  has  happened  ?     Where  are  the  rest  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  thrown  down  an  embankment.  The 
lads  are  gone  for  help.  God  only  knows  what  harm  is 
done." 

Karl's  voice  died  in  a  stifled  groan,  and  Helen  cried 
out  in  alarm,  — 

"  Where  are  3"ou?     You  are  hurt?" 

"  Not  much.  I  keep  the  ruins  from  falling  in  to 
crush  us.     Be  quiet,  the^^  are  coming." 

A  shout  answered  the  faint  halloo  he  gave  as  if 
to  guide  them  to  the  spot,  and  a  moment  after,  five 
of  the  students  were  swarming  about  the  wreck,  in- 
tent on  saving  the  three  whose  lives  were  still  in 
danger. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  173 

A  lamp  torn  from  some  demolished  carriage  was  held 
through  an  opening,  and  Helen  saw  a  sight  that  made 
her  blood  chill  in  her  veins.  Across  her  feet,  crushed 
and  bleeding,  lay  the  youngest  of  the  students,  and 
kneeling  close  beside  him  was  Hoffman,  supporting  by 
main  strength  a  mass  of  timber,  which  otherwise  would 
fall  and  crush  them  all.  His  face  was  ghastly  pale,  his 
eyes  haggard  with  suffering  and  suspense,  and  great 
drops  stood  upon  his  forehead.  But  as  she  looked,  he 
smiled  with  a  cheer}^,  — 

''  Bear  up,  dear  lady,  we  shall  soon  be  out  of  danger. 
Now,  lads,  work  with  a  will ;  my  strength  is  going 
fast." 

Thej^  did  work  like  heroes,  and  even  in  her  pain  and 
peril,  Helen  admired  the  skill,  energ}",  and  courage  of 
the  3^oung  men,  who,  an  hour  ago,  had  seemed  to  have 
no  ideas  above  pipes  and  beer.  Soon  Hoffman  was  free, 
the  poor  senseless  youth  lifted  out,  and  then,  as  tenderly 
as  if  she  were  a  child,  they  raised  and  set  her  down, 
faint  but  unhurt,  in  a  wide  meadow,  already  strewn  with 
sad  tokens  of  the  wreck. 

Karl  was  taken  possession  of  as  well  as  herself,  forced 
to  rest  a  moment,  drink  a  cordial  draught  from  some 
one's  flask,  and  be  praised,  embraced,  and  enthusiasti- 
cally blessed  by  the  impetuous  youths. 

"  Where  is  the  boy  who  was  hurt?  Bring  him  to  me. 
I  am  strong  now.  I  want  to  help.  I  have  salts  in  my 
pocket,  and  I  can  bind  up  his  wounds,"  said  Helen,  soon 
herself  again. 

Karl  and  Helen  soon  brought  back  life  and  sense  to 
the  boy,  and  never  had  human  face  looked  so  lovely  as 
did  Helen's  to  the  anxious  comrades  when  she  looked 


174  PROVERB   STORIED. 

up  in  the  moonlight  with  a  joj^ful  smile,  and  softly  whis- 
pered, — 

"  He  is  alive." 

For  an  hour  terrible  confusion  reigned,  then  the  panic 
subsided  a  little,   and  such  of  the  carriages  as  wer 
whole  were  made  ready  to  carry  awa}^  as  man^^  as  possi  • 
ble  ;  the  rest  must  wait  till  a  return  train  could  be  sen 
for  them. 

A  struggle  of  course  ensued,  for  ever}^  one  wished  U 
go  on,  and  fear  made  man}'  selfish.  The  wounded,  the 
women  and  children,  were  taken,  as  far  as  possible,  and 
the  laden  trahi  moved  away,  leaving  many  anxioua 
watchers  behind. 

Helen  had  refused  to  go,  and  had  given  her  place  to 
poor  Conrad,  thereby  overwhelming  his  brother  and  com- 
rades with  gratitude.  Two  went  on  with  the  wounded 
lad  ;  the  rest  remained,  and  chivalrously  devoted  them- 
selves to  Helen  as  a  body-guard. 

The  moon  shone  clearly,  the  wide  field  was  miles  from 
any  hamlet,  and  a  desolate  silence  succeeded  to  the  late 
uproar,  as  the  band  of  waiters  roamed  about,  longing  for 
help  and  dawn. 

"  Mademoiselle,  3'ou  shiver;  the  dew  falls,  and  it  is 
damp  here  ;  we  must  have  a  fire  ;  "  and  Karl  was  aw.i}' 
to  a  neighboring  liedge,  intent  on  warming  his  delicate 
charge  if  he  felled  a  forest  to  do  it. 

The  students  rushed  after  him,  and  soon  returned  in 
triumph  to  build  a  glorious  fire,  which  drew  all  forlorn 
wanderers  to  its  hospitable  circle.  A  motley  assem- 
blage ;  but  mutual  danger  and  discomfort  produced  mu- 
tual s3-mi)athy  and  good  will,  and  a  general  atmosphere 
of  friendship  pervaded  the  party. 


I  THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  175 

"  Where  is  the  brave  Hoffman?"  asked  Wilhelm,  the 

blond  student,  who,  being  in    the  Werther   period   of 

I,  youth,  was  alread}^  madlj'  in  love  with  Helen,  and  sat 

,    t  her  feet  catching  cold  in  the  most  romantic  manner. 

\.     ''Behold  me!      The  little  ones  cry  for  hunger,  sol 

msack  the  ruins  and   bring  awa}"  m}^  spoils.      Eat, 

binder,  eat  and  be  patient." 

As  he  spoke,  Karl  appeared  with  an  odd  collection  of 

caskets,  bags,  and  bottles,  and  with  a  fatherly  air  that 

von  all  the  mothers,  he  gave  the  children  whatever  first 

ippeared,  making  them  laugh  in  spite  of  weariness  and 

•   lunger  by  the  merry  speeches  which  accompanied  his 

J  gifts. 

'\  "  You  too  need  something.  Here  is  your  own  basket 
^  with  the  lunch  I  ordered  you.  In  a  sad  state  of  confu- 
■  sion,  but  still  eatable.  See,  it  is  not  bad,"  and  he  deftly 
spread  on  a  napkin  before  Helen  cold  chicken,  sand- 
,  wiches,  and  fruit. 

I|  His  care  for  the  little  ones  as  well  as  for  herself 
touched  her  and  made  her  eyes  fill,  as  she  remembered 
that  she  owed  her  life  to  him,  and  recalled  the  sight  of 
his  face  in  the  overturned  car. 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  thanked  him,  and 

the  moonlight  betraj^ed  her  wet  eyes.     He  fancied  she 

was  worn  out  with  excitement  and  fatigue,  and  anxious 

;    to  cheer  her  spirits,  he  whispered  to  Wilhelm  and  his 

inates,  — 

"  Sing,  then,  comrades,  and  while  away  this  tedious 
night.  It  is  hard  for  all  to  wait  so  long,  and  the  babies 
need  a  lullabj-." 

The  young  men  laughed  and  sang  as  only  German 
students  can  sing,  making  the  night  musical  with  blithe 


176  PROVERB  STORIES.  \ 

drinking    songs,   tender   love-lays,   battle-hj^mns,   and 
Yolkslieder  sweeter  than  any  songs  across  the  water. 

Every  heart  was  cheered  and  warmed  by  the  magic 
of  the   music,  the   babies   fell   asleep,  strangers  grew 
friendly,  fear  changed  to  courage,  and  the  most  forlorn 
felt  the  romance  of  that  bivouac  under  the   summer . 
sky. 

Dawn  was  reddening  the  east  when  a  welcome  whistle, 
broke  up  the  camp.     Every  one  hurried  to  the  railway, 
but  Helen  paused  to  gather  a  handful  of  blue  forget-me- 
nots,  saying  to  Hoffman,  who  waited  with  her  wraps  on 
his  arm,  — 

''It  has  been  a  happy  night,  in  spite  of  the  danger 
and  discomfort.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  it ;  and  take 
these  as  a  souvenir." 

He  smiled,  standing  bare-headed  in  the  chilly  wind, 
for  his  hat  was  lost,  his  coat  torn,  hair  dishevelled,  and 
one  hand  carelessly  bound  up  in  his  handkerchief. 
Helen  saw  these  marks  of  the  night's  labors  and  perils 
for  the  first  time,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  seated  de- 
sired to  see  his  hand. 

"It  is  nothing,  —  a  scratch,  a  mere  scratch,  I  give 
you  my  word,  mademoiselle,"  he  began,  but  Wilhelm 
unceremoniously  removed  the  handkerchief,  showing  a 
torn  and  bleeding  hand  which  must  have  been  exquisitely 
painful. 

Helen  turned  pale,  and  with  a  reproachful  glance 
skilfully  bound  it  up  again,  saying,  as  she  handed  a 
silken  scarf  to  Wilhelm,  — 

"  Make  of  that  a  sling,  please,  and  put  the  poor  hand 
in  it.     Care  must  be  taken,  or  harm  will  come  of  it." 

Hofiman  submitted  in  bashful  silence,  as  if  surprised 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  Vi*J 

and  touched  by  the  young  lady's  interest.  She  saw  that, 
and  added  gratefully,  — 

"  I  do  not  forget  that  you  saved  my  life,  though  you 
seem  to  have  done  so.  My  uncle  will  thank  you  better 
than  I  can." 

"  I  already  have  my  reward,  mademoiselle,"  he  re- 
turned, with  a  respectful  inclination  and  a  look  she 
could  neither  understand  nor  forget. 


III. 


The  excitement  and  suspense  of  the  major  and  Amy 
can  be  imagined  when  news  of  the  accident  reached 
them.  Their  gratitude  and  relief  were  intense  when 
Helen  appeared  next  morning,  with  the  faithful  Hoffman 
still  at  his  post,  though  no  longer  able  to  disguise  the 
fact  that  he  was  suffering  from  his  wound. 

When  the  story  had  been  told,  Karl  was  put  under 
the  surgeon's  care,  and  all  remained  at  Heidelberg  for 
several  da3^s  to  rest  and  recover. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day  the  major  and  young 
ladies  drove  off  to  the  castle  for  a  farewell  view.  Helen 
began  to  sketch  the  great  stone  lion's  head  above  the 
grand  terrace,  the  major  smoked  and  chatted  with  a 
party  of  English  artists  whom  he  had  met,  and  Ani}^, 
with  a  little  lad  for  a  guide,  explored  the  old  castle  to 
her  heart's  content. 

The  sun  set,  and  twilight  began  to  fall  when  Helen 
12 


178  PROVERB   STORIES. 

put  up  her  pencils,  and  the  major  set  off  to  find  Am}', 
who  had  been  appearing  and  disappearing  in  ever}-  nook 
and  cranny  of  the  half-ruined  castle. 

Nowhere  could  he  find  her,  and  no  voice  answered 
when  he  called.  The  other  visitors  were  gone,  and  the 
place  seemed  deserted,  except  by  themselves  and  the  old 
man  who  showed  the  ruins. 

Becoming  alarmed  lest  the  girl  had  fallen  somewhere, 
or  lost  her  way  among  the  vaults  where  the  famous  Tun 
lies,  the  major  called  out  old  Hans  with  his  lantern,  and 
searched  high  and  low. 

Amy's  hat,  full  of  flowers  and  ferns,  was  found  in  the 
Lady's  Walk,  as  the  little  terrace  is  called,  but  no  other 
trace  appeared,  and  Helen  hurried  to  and  fro  in  great 
distress,  fearing  all  manner  of  dangers. 

Meanwhile  Amy,  having  explored  ever}'  other  part  of 
the  castle,  went  to  take  another  look  at  the  Tun,  the 
dwarf,  and  the  vaults. 

•Now  little  Anderl,  her  guide,  had  a  great  fear  of 
ghosts,  and  legions  were  said  to  haunt  the  ruins  after 
nightfall,  so  when  Amy  rambled  on  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  gloom  the  boy's  courage  ebbed  away  with  every 
step ;  yet  he  was  ashamed  to  own  his  fear,  seeing  that 
she  had  none. 

Amy  wanted  to  see  a  certain  cell,  where  a  nun  was 
said  to  have  pined  to  death  because  she  would  not  listen 
to  the  Margraf 's  love.  The  legend  pleased  the  romantic 
girl,  and  forgetful  of  waning  daylight,  gathering  damps, 
and  Anderl's  reluctant  service,  she  ran  on,  up  steps  and 
down,  delighted  with  little  arched  doors,  rusty  chains  on 
the  walls,  glimpses  of  sky  through  shattered  roofs,  and 
all  manner  of  mysterious  nooks  and  corners.     Coming 


THE   BARON'S   GLOVES.  179 

fit  hist  to  a  narrow  cell,  with  a  stone  table,  and  heavy 
bolts  on  the  old  door,  she  felt  sure  this  was  poor  Elfrida's 
prison,  and  called  Anderl  to  come  on  with  his  candle, 
for  the  boy  had  lighted  one,  for  his  own  comfort  rather 
than  hers.  Her  call  was  unanswered,  and  glancing 
back,  she  saw  the  candle  placed  on  the  ground,  but  no 
Anderl. 

"  Little  coward,  he  has  run  away,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing ;  and  having  satisfied  her  curiositj",  turned  to  retrace 
her  steps,  —  no  easy  task  to  one  ignorant  of  the  wa}', 
for  vault  after  vault  opened  on  both  sides,  and  no  path 
was  discernible.  In  vain  she  tried  to  recall  some  land- 
mark, the  gloom  had  deepened  and  nothing  was  clear. 
On  she  hurried,  but  found  no  opening,  and  reall}^  fright- 
ened, stopped  at  last,  calling  the  boy  in  a  voice  that 
woke  a  hundred  echoes.  But  Anderl  had  fled  home, 
thinking  the  lady  would  find  her  wa}"  back,  and  prefer- 
ring to  lose  his  kreutzers  to  seeing  a  ghost. 

Poor  Am3^'s  bewilderment  and  alarm  increased  with 
every  moment's  delaj',  and  hoping  to  come  out  some- 
where, she  ran  on  till  a  misstep  jostled  the  candle  from 
her  hand  and  extinguished  it. 

Left  in  the  dark,  her  courage  deserted  her,  and  she 
screamed  desperatelj',  like  a  lost  child,  and  was  fast 
getting  into  a  state  of  frantic  terror,  when  the  sound  of 
an  approaching  step  reassured  her. 

Holding  her  breath,  she  heard  a  quick  tread  draw- 
ing nearer,  as  if  guided  b}^  her  cries,  and,  straining 
her  e^^es,  she  caught  the  outline  of  a  man's  figure  in  the 
gloom. 

A  sensation  of  intense  jo}^  rushed  over  her,  and  she 
was   about  to  spring  forward,  when  she  remembered 


180  PROVERB  STORIES. 

that  fis  she  could  speak  no  German  how  could  she  ex- 
plain her  plight  to  the  stranger,  if  he  understand  neither 
French  nor  English? 

Fear  took  possession  of  her  at  the  thought  of  meeting 
some  rough  peasant,  or  some  rollicking  student,  to 
whom  she  could  make  no  intelligible  appeal  or  expla- 
nation. 

Crouching  close  against  the  wall,  she  stood  mute  till 
the  figure  was  very  near.  She  was  in  the  shadow  of  an 
angle,  and  the  man  paused,  as  if  looking  for  the  person 
who  called  for  help. 

"Who  is  lost  here?"  said  a  clear  voice,  in  Ger- 
man. 

Am}^  shrunk  closer  to  the  wall,  fearing  to  speak,  for 
the  voice  was  that  of  a  young  man,  and  a  low  laugh  fol- 
lowed the  words,  as  if  the  speaker  found  the  situation 
amusing. 

"Mortal,  ghost  or  devil,  I'll  find  it,"  exclaimed  the 
voice,  and  stepping  forward,  a  hand  groped  for  and 
found  her. 

"  Lottchen,  is  it  thou?  Little  rogue,  thou  shalt  pay 
dearly  for  leading  me  such  a  chase." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  the  girl  toward  him,  but  with  a 
faint  cry,  a  vain  effort  to  escape.  Amy's  terror  reached 
its  climax,  and  spent  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  she 
lost  consciousness. 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  it,  then?  Lottchen  never  faints 
on  a  frolic.  Some  poor  little  gh-l  lost  in  earnest.  I 
must  get  her  out  of  tliis  gloom}^  place  at  once,  and  find 
her  party  afterward." 

Lifting  the  slight  figure  in  his  arms,  the  3'oung  man 
hurried  on,  and  soon  came  out  through  a  shattered  gate- 


THE  BAROJSrS  GLOVES.  181 

way  into  the  shrubbery  which  surrounds  the  base  of  the 
castle. 

La3'ing  her  on  the  grass,  he  gently  chafed  her  hands, 
eying  the  pale,  prett}^  face  meantime  with  the  utmost 
sohcitude. 

At  his  first  glimpse  of  it  he  had  started,  smiled  and 
made  a  gesture  of  pleasure  and  surprise,  then  gave  him- 
self entirely  to  the  task  of  recovering  the  poor  girl  whom 
he  had  frightened  out  of  her  senses. 

Very  soon  she  looked  up  with  dizzy  e3'es,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  imploringly,  cried,  in  English,  like  a  be- 
wildered child,  — 

''  I  am  lost !     Oh,  take  me  to  my  uncle." 

*'  I  will,  the  moment  you  can  walk.  Upon  my  soul, 
I  meant  to  help  you  when  I  followed ;  but  as  you  did 
not  answer,  I  fancied  it  was  Lottchen,  the  keeper's 
little  girl.  Pardon  the  fright  I  've  caused  you,  and  let 
me  take  you  to  your  friends." 

The  true  English  accent  of  the  words,  and  the  hearty 
tone  of  sincerity  in  the  apology,  reassured  Am}^  at  once, 
and,  rising,  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile  and  a  petulant 
tone, — 

"  I  was  very  silly,  but  my  guide  ran  away,  my  candle 
went  out,  I  lost  the  path,  and  can  speak  no  German ; 
so  I  was  afraid  to  answer  you  at  first ;  and  then  I  lost  my 
wits  altogether,  for  it's  rather  startling  to  be  clutched 
in  the  dark,  sir." 

''  Indeed  it  is.  I  was  very  thoughtless,  but  now  let 
me  atone  for  it.  Where  is  your  uncle.  Miss  Erskine  ?  " 
asked  the  stranger,  with  respectful  earnestness. 

"  You  know  my  name?"  cried  Amy  in  her  impulsive 
way. 


182  PROVERB   STORIES. 

''  I  have  that  happiness,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  I  don't  know  you,  sir  ;  "  and  she  peered  at  him, 
trying  to  see  his  face  in  the  darkness,  for  the  copse 
was  thick,  and  twilight  had  come  on  rapidly. 

*'  Not  yet ;  I  live  in  hope.  Shall  we  go?  Your  uncle 
will  be  uneasy." 

"  Where  are  we?  "  asked  Amy,  glad  to  move  on,  for 
the  Interview  was  becoming  too  personal  even  for  her, 
and  the  stranger's  manner  fluttered  her,  though  she  en- 
jo3'ed  the  romance  of  the  adventure  immensely. 

"We  are  in  the  park  which  surrounds  the  castle. 
You  were  near  the  entrance  to  it  from  the  vaults  when 
you  fainted." 

' '  I  wish  I  had  kept  on  a  little  longer,  and  not  dis- 
graced mj^self  by  such  a  panic." 

"Nay,  that  is  a  cruel  wish,  for  then  I  should  have 
lost  the  happiness  of  helping  you." 

They  had  been  walking  side  by  side,  but  here  were 
forced  to  pause  on  reaching  a  broken  flight  of  steps,  for 
Amy  could  not  see  the  way  before  her. 

' '  Let  me  lead  3^ou ;  it  is  steep  and  dark,  but  better 
than  going  a  long  way  round  through  the  dew,"  he  said, 
offering  his  hand. 

"  Must  we  return  by  these  dreadful  vaults  ?  "  faltered 
Amy,  shrinking  back. 

"  It  is  the  shortest  and  safest  route,  I  assure  you." 

"Are  you  sure  3'ou  know  the  way ? " 

"  Quite  sure.  I  have  lived  here  by  the  week  together. 
Do  you  fear  to  trust  me  ?  "     , 

"  No  ;  l)ut  it  is  so  dark,  and  everjlhing  is  so  strange 
to  me.  Can  we  get  down  safely?  I  see  nothing  but  a 
black  pit." 


I 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  183 

And  Amy  still  hesitated,  with  an  odd  mixture  of  fear 
and  coqnetiy. 

"  I  brought  3'ou  up  in  safety  ;  shall  I  take  you  down 
again  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  with  a  smile  flickering  over 
his  face. 

Amy  felt  rather  than  saw  it,  and  assuming  an  air  of 
dignified  displeasure,  motioned  him  to  proceed,  which 
he  did  for  three  steps  ;  then  Amy  slipped,  and  gladly 
caught  by  the  arm  extended  to  save  her. 

Without  a  word  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her  back 
through  the  lab3'rinth  she  had  threaded  in  her  bewilder- 
ment. A  dim  light  filled  the  place,  but  with  unerring 
steps  her  guide  went  on  till  they  emerged  into  the 
courtyard. 

Major  Erskine's  voice  was  audible,  giving  directions 
to  the  keeper,  and  Helen's  figure  visible  as  she  groped 
among  the  shadows  of  the  ruined  chapel  for  her 
cousin. 

"  There  are  my  friends.  Now  I  am  safe.  Come  and 
let  them  thank  you,"  cried  Am}^,  in  her  frank,  childlike 
warmth  of  manner. 

"I  want  no  thanks  —  forgive  me  —  adieu,"  and 
hastily  kissing  the  little  hand  that  had  lain  so  confid- 
ingly in  his,  the  stranger  was  gone. 

Amy  rushed  at  once  to  Helen,  and  when  the  lost 
lamb  had  been  welcomed,  chidden,  and  exulted  over, 
they  drove  home,  listening  to  the  very  brief  account 
which  Amy  gave  of  her  adventure. 

"  Naughty  little  gad- about,  how  could  you  go  and 
terrify  me  so,  wandering  in  vaults  with  mj'sterious  stran- 
gers, like  the  Countess  of  Rudolstadt.  You  are  as  wet 
and  dirt}'  as  if  you  had  been  digging  a  well,  yet  you  look 


184  PROVERB  STORIES. 

as  if  you  liked  it,"  said  Helen,  as  she  led  Amy  into  their 
room  at  the  hotel. 

"  I  do,"  was  the  decided  answer,  as  the  girl  pulled  a 
handkerchief  off  her  head,  and  began  to  examine  the 
corners  of  it.  Suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry  and  flew  to 
the  hght,  exclaiming,  — 

"Nell,  Nell,  look  here!  The  same  letters,  '  S.  P.', 
the  same  coat  of  arms,  the  same  perfume — it  was  the 
baron !  " 

"What?  who?  are  jou  out  of  your  mind?"  said 
Helen,  examining  the  large,  fine  cambric  handkerchief, 
with  its  delicately  stamped  initials  under  the  stag's  head, 
and  three  stars  on  a  heart-shaped  shield.  "  Where  did 
you  get  it  ?  "  she  added,  as  she  inhaled  the  soft  odor  of 
violets  shaken  from  its  folds. 

Amy  blushed  and  answered  shyly,  "I  didn't  tell 
you  all  that  happened  before  uncle,  but  now  I  will.  My 
hat  was  left  behind,  and  when  I  recovered  my  wits  after 
my  fright,  I  found  this  tied  over  my  head.  Oh,.  Nell, 
it  was  ver}-  charming  there  in  that  romantic  old  park, 
and  going  through  the  vaults  with  him,  and  having  my 
hand  kissed  at  parting.  No  one  ever  did  that  before, 
and  I  like  it." 

Amy  glanced  at  her  hand  as  she  spoke,  and  stood 
staring  at  it  as  if  struck  dumb,  for  there  on  her  fore- 
finger shone  a  ring  she  had  never  seen  before. 

"Look!  look!  mine  is  gone,  and  this  in  its  place! 
Oh,  Nell,  what  shall  I  do?"  she  said,  looking  half 
frightened,  half  pleased. 

Helen  examined  the  ring  and  shook  her  head,  for  it 
was  far  more  valuable  than  the  little  pearl  one  which, 
it  replaced.     Two  tiny  hands  of  finest  gold  were  linked 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  185 

together  fibont  a  diamond  of  great  brillianc}^ ;  and  on  the 
inside  appeared  again  the  initials,  "  8.  P." 

"  How  did  it  happen?"  she  asked,  rather  sternl}^ 
"  Upon  m}'  word,  I  don't  know,  unless  he  put  it  on 
while  I  was  stupidlj^  fainting.     Rude  man,  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  me  so.     But,  Nell,  it  is  splendid,  and  what 
shall  I  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  uncle,  find  out  the  man  and  send  back  his 
things.  It  really  is  absurd,  the  manner  in  which  Ger- 
man boys  behave  ;  "  and  Helen  frowned,  though  she  was 
strongly  tempted  to  laugh  at  the  whole  thing. 

''  He  was  neither  a  German  nor  a  boy,  but  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman,  I  'm  sure,"  began  Amy,  rather  offended. 
"  But  '  S.  P.'  is.  a  baron,  3'ou  know,  unless  there  are 
two  Richmonds  in  the  field,"  broke  in  Helen. 

"  I  forgot  that ;  never  mind,  it  deepens  the  mystery ; 
and  after  this  performance,  I  'm  prepared  for  any  enor- 
mity. It 's  m}'  fate ;  I  submit,"  said  Amy,  tragically, 
as  she  waved  her  pretty  hand  to  and  fro,  pleased  with 
the  flash  of  the  ring. 

"  Amy,  I  think  on  the  whole  I  won't  speak  to  uncle. 
He  is  quick  to  take  offence,  especially  where  we  are 
concerned.  He  doesn't  understand  foreign  ways,  and 
ma^^  get  into  trouble.  We  will  manage  it  quietly  our- 
selves." 

"How,  Nell?" 

"  Karl  is  discreet ;  we  will  merely  sa^^  we  found  these 
things  and  wish  to  discover  the  owner.  He  may  know 
this  ^  S.  P.,'  and,  having  learned  his  address,  we  can 
send  them  back.  The  man  will  understand  ;  and  as  we 
leave  to-morrow,  we  shall  be  out  of  the  way  before  he 
can  play  an}'  new  prank." 


186  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  Have  in  Karl  at  once,  for  if  I  wear  this  lovelj-  thing 
long  I  shall  not  be  able  to  let  it  go  at  all.  How  dared 
the  creature  take  such  a  liberty-  ! "  and  Am}'  pulled  ofl 
the  ring  with  an  expression  of  great  scorn. 

"  Come  into  the  salon  and  see  what  Karl  says  to  the 
matter.  Let  me  speak,  or  jou  will  say  too  much.  One 
must  be  prudent  before  —  " 

She  was  going  to  say  ''  servants,"  but  checked  her- 
self, and  substituted  "  strangers,"  remembering  grate- 
full}^  how  much  she  owed  this  man. 

Hoffman  came,  looking  pale,  and  with  his  hand  in  a 
sling,  but  was  as  gravety  devoted  as  ever,  and  listened 
to  Helen's  brief  stor}^  with  serious  attention. 

''I  will  inquire,  mademoiselle,  and^  let  3'ou  know  at 
once.  It  is  easy  to  find  persons  if  one  has  a  clue.  Ma}^ 
I  see  the  handkerchief?  " 

Helen  showed  it.  He  glanced  at  the  initials,  and 
laid  it  down  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  The  coat-of-arms  is  English,  mademoiselle." 

' '  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  so  ;  I  understand  heraldry." 

''  But  the  initials  stand  for  Sigismund  Palsdorf,  and 
we  know  he  is  a  German  baron,"  broke  in  Amy,  for- 
getting prudence  in  eagerness. 

"  If  mademoiselle  knows  the  name  and  title  of  this 
gentleman  it  will  not  be  hard  to  find  him." 

"  We  only  fancy  it  is  the  same  because  of  the  initials. 
I  dare  say  it  is  a  mistake,  and  the  man  is  English.  In- 
quire quietly,  Hoffman,  if  j^-ou  please,  as  this  ring  is  of 
value,  and  I  wish  to  restore  it  to  its  owner,"  said  Helen, 
rather  sharpl}-. 

''  I  shall  do  so,  mademoiselle,"  and  with  his  gentle- 
manly bow,  the  courier  left  the  room. 


TtlE^  BARON'S   GLOVES.  187 

"^  Bless  me,  what's  that?"  cried  Arh}',  a  moment 
afterward,  as  a  ringing  laugh  echoed  through  the 
corridor,  —  a  laugh  so  full  of  hearty  and  infectious  mer- 
riment that  both  girls  smiled  involuntarily,  and  Amy 
peeped  out  to  see  who  the  blithe  personage  might  be. 

An  old  gentleman  was  entering  his  room  near  by,  and 
Karl  was  just  about  to  descend  the  stairs.  Both  looked 
back  at  the  girlish  face  peeping  at  them,  but  both  were 
quite  grave,  and  the  peal  of  laughter  remained  a  mj's- 
tery,  like  all  the  rest  of  it. 

Late  in  the  evening  Hoffman  returned  to  report  that 
a  party  of  young  Englishmen  had  visited  the  castle  that 
afternoon,  and  had  left  by  the  evening  train.  One  of 
them  had  been  named  Samuel  Peters,  and  he,  doubtless, 
was  the  owner  of  the  ring. 

A  humorous  expression  lurked  in  the  courier's  eye  as 
he  made  his  report,  and  heard  Amy  exclaim,  in  a  tone 
of  disgust  and  comical  despair,  — 

"Samuel  Peters!  That  spoils  all  the  romance  and 
dims  the  beauty  of  the  diamond.  To  think  that  a 
Peters  should  be  the  hero  to  whom  I  owe  my  safet}^, 
and  a  Samuel  should  leave  me  this  token  of  regard !  " 

"Hush,  Amy,"  whispered  Helen.  "Thanks,  Hoff- 
man ;  we  must  wait  now  for  chance  to  help  us." 


IV. 

A   POLISH   EXILE. 

"  Room  for  one  here,  sir,"  said  the  guard,  as  the  train 
stopped  at  Carlsruhe  next  day,  on  its  way  from  Heidel- 
berg to  Baden. 


188  PROVERB   STORIES. 

The  major  put  down  his  guide-book,  Amy  opened  her 
eyes,  and  Helen  removed  her  shawl  from  the  opposite 
seat,  as  a  3^oung  man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  with  a  green 
shade  over  his  eyes,  and  a  general  air  of  feebleness,  got 
in  and  sank  back  with  a  sigh  of  weariness  or  pain. 
Evidently  an  invalid,  for  his  face  was  thin  and  pale,  his 
dark  hair  cropped  short,  and  the  ungloved  hand  attenu- 
ated and  delicate  as  a  woman's.  A  sidelong  glance 
from  under  the  deep  shade  seemed  to  satisf}^  him  re- 
garding his  neighbors,  and  drawing  his  cloak  about  him 
with  a  slight  shiver,  he  leaned  into  the  corner  and  seemed 
to  forget  that  he  was  not  alone. 

Helen  and  Amy  exchanged  glances  of  compassionate  in- 
terest, for  women  always  pit}^  invalids,  especially  if  3'oung, 
comely  and  of  the  opposite  sex.  The  major  took  one 
look,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  returned  to  his  book. 

Presently  a  hollow  cough  gave  Helen  a  pretext  for 
discovering  the  nationality  of  the  new-comer. 

"  Do  the  open  windows  inconvenience  you,  sir?"  she 
asked,  in  English. 

No  answer ;  the  question  evidently  unintelligible. 

She  repeated  it  in  French,  hghtly  touching  his  cloak 
to  arrest  his  attention. 

Instantly  a  smile  broke  over  the  handsome  mouth, 
and  in  the  purest  French  he  assured  her  that  the  fresh 
air  was  most  agreeable,  and  begged  pardon  for  annoy- 
ing them  with  his  troublesome  cough. 

"Not  an  invalid,  I  hope,  sir?  "  said  the  major,  in  his 
bluff  yet  kindly  voice. 

"  They  teU  me  I  can  have  no  other  fate;  that  my 
malady  is  fatal ;  but  I  still  hope  and  light  for  my  life ; 
it  is  all  I  have  to  give  my  country  now." 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  189 

A  stifled  sigh  and  a  sad  emphasis  on  the  last  word 
rous(id  the  sympathy  of  the  girls,  the  interest  of  the 
major. 

He  took  another  surve}^,  and  said,  with  a  tone  of 
satisfaction,  as  he  marked  the  martial  carriage  of  the 
young  man,  and  caught  a  fiery  glance  of  the  half-hidden 
eyes,  — 

"  You  are  a  soldier,  sir?  " 

"  I  was  ;  I  am  nothing  now  but  an  exile,  for  Poland 
is  in  chains." 

The  words  "  Poland  "  and  "  exile  "  brought  up  all  the 
pathetic  stories  of  that  unhappy  country  which  the  three 
listeners  had  ever  heard,  and  won  their  interest  at  once, 

"  You  were  in  the  late  revolution,  perhaps?"  asked 
the  major,  giving  the  unhappy  outbreak  the  most  re- 
spectful name  he  could  use. 

"  From  beginning  to  end." 

*'  Oh,  tell  us  about  it ;  we  felt  much  sympathy  for 
you,  and  longed  to  have  you  win,"  cried  Amy,  with  such 
genuine  interest  and  pity  in  her  tone,  it  was  impossible 
to  resist. 

Pressing  both  hands  upon  his  breast,  the  young  man 
bent  low,  with  a  flush  of  feeling  on  his  pale  cheek,  and 
answered  eagerly, — 

"  Ah,  you  are  kind ;  it  is  balm  to  my  sore  heart  to 
hear  words  like  these.  I  thank  you,  and  tell  j-ou  what 
you  will.  It  is  but  little  that  I  do,  yet  I  give  my  life, 
and  die  a  long  death,  instead  of  a  quick,  brave  one  with 
my  comrades." 

"  You  are  young  to  have  borne  a  part  in  a  revolution, 
sir,"  said  the  major,  who  pricked  up  his  ears  like  an  old 
war-horse  at  the  sound  of  battle. 


190  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  M}'  friends  and  mj'self  left  the  Universit}'  at  Varso- 
vie,  as  volunteers  ;  we  did  our  part,  and  now  all  lie  in 
their  graves  but  three." 

"  You  were  wounded,  it  seems?" 

"  Many  times,  i^xposure,  privation,  and  sorrow  will 
finish  what  the  Russian  bullets  began.  But  it  is  well. 
I  have  no  wish  to  see  my  country  enslaved,  and  1  cr.n 
no  longer  help  her." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  a  happier  future  waits  for  you  both. 
Poland  loves  liberty  too  well,  and  has  sufiered  too  much 
for  it,  to  be  kept  long  in  captivity." 

Helen  spoke  warmly,  and  the  young  man  listened  with 
a  brightening  face. 

"  It  is  a  kind  prophec}^ ;  I  accept  it,  and  take  courage. 
God  knows  I  need  it,"  he  added,  low  to  himself 

* '  Are  you  bound  for  Italj^  ?  "  said  the  major,  in  a 
most  un-English  fit  of  curiosity. 

' '  For  Geneva  first,  Italy  later,  unless  Montreaux  is 
mild  enough  for  me  to  winter  in.  I  go  to  satisfy  mj^ 
friends,  but  doubt  if  it  avails  much." 

"  Where  is  Montreaux?  "  asked  Am}^ 

"Near  Clarens,  where  Rousseau  wrote  his  Heloise, 
and  Vevay,  where  so  many  English  go  to  enjoy  Chillon. 
The  climate  is  divine  for  unfortunates  like  m3^self,  and 
life  more  cheap  there  than  in  Itaty." 

Here  the  train  stopped  again,  and  Hoffman  came  to 
ask  if  the  ladies  desired  an3'thing. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  j'oung  Pole  started, 
looked  up,  and  exclaimed,  with  the  vivacity  of  a  for- 
eigner, in  German,  — 

"  By  my  life,  it  is  Karl !  Behold  me,  old  friend,  and 
satisfy  me  that  it  is  thyself  b}^  a  handshake." 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  191 

"  Casimer!  What  wind  blows  thee  hither,  my  boy, 
in  such  sad  plight?"  replied  Hoffman,  grasping  the 
slender  hand  outstretched  to  him. 

"  I  %  from  an  enem^^  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
and,  like  all  cowards,  shall  be  conquered  in  the  end.  I 
wrote  thee  I  was  better,  but  the  wound  in  the  breast 
reopened,  and  nothing  but  a  miracle  will  save  me.  I  go 
to  Switzerland  ;  and  thou  ?  " 

"  Where  my  master  commands.  I  serve  this  gentle- 
man, now." 

"  Hard  changes  for  both,  but  with  health  thou  art 
king  of  circumstances,  while  I? —  Ah  well,  the  good 
God  knows  best.  Karl,  go  thou  and  bu}^  me  two  of 
those  pretty  baskets  of  grapes  ;  I  will  please  myself  by 
giving  them  to  these  pitying  angels.  Speak  thej^  Ger- 
man ?  " 

"  One,  the  elder ;  but  they  understand  not  this  rattle 
of  ours." 

Karl  disappeared,  and  Helen,  who  had  understood 
the  rapid  dialogue,  tried  to  seem  as  unconscious  as  Amy. 

"  Sa}^  a  friendly  word  to  me  at  times  ;  I  am  so  home- 
sick and  faint-hearted,  mj^  Hoffman.  Thanks  ;  they  are 
almost  worthy  the  lips  that  shall  taste  them." 

Taking  the  two  little  osier  baskets,  laden  with  3"ellow 
and  purple  clusters,  Casimer  offered  them,  with  a  charm- 
ing mixture  of  timidity  and  grace,  to  the  girls,  sa3ing, 
like  a  grateful  boy,  — 

' '  You  give  me  kind  words  and  good  hopes  ;  permit 
that  I  thank  you  in  this  poor  way." 

"  I  drink  success  to  Poland,"  cried  Helen,  lifting  a 
great,  juicy  grape  to  her  lips,  like  a  little  purple  goblet, 
hoping  to  hide  her  confusion  under  a  playful  air. 


192  PROVERB  STORIES. 

The  grapes  went  round,  and  healths  were  drunk  with 
much  merriment,  for  in  traveUing  on  the  Continent  it  is 
impossible  for  the  gruffest,  primmest  person  to  long 
resist  the  frank  courtes}'  and  vivacious  chat  of  for- 
eigners. 

The  major  was  unusually  social  and  inquisitive,  and 
while  the  soldiers  fought  their  battles  over  again  the 
girls  listened  and  took  notes,  with  feminine  wits  on  the 
alert  to  catch  any  personal  revelations  which  might  fall 
from  the  interesting  stranger.  The  wrongs  and  suffer- 
ings of  Poland  were  discussed  so  eloquent^  that  both 
young  ladies  were  moved  to  declare  the  most  undying 
hatred  of  Russia,  Prussia,  and  Austria,  the  most  intense 
sympathy  for  "  poor  Pologne."  All  clay  they  travelled 
together,  and  as  Baden-Baden  approached,  the}'  natu- 
rally fell  to  talking  of  the  ga}'  place. 

"  Uncle,  I  must  tr}^  my  fortune  once.  I've  set  my 
heart  upon  it,  and  so  has  Nell.  We  want  to  know  how 
gamblers  feel,  and  to  taste  the  fascination  of  the  game 
which  draws  people  here  from  all  parts  of  Europe,"  said 
Amy,  in  her  half-pleading,  half-imperious  way. 

"  You  may  risk  one  napoleon  each,  as  I  foolishl}' 
promised  j^ou  should,  when  I  little  thought  3'ou  would 
ever  have  an  opportunity  to  remind  me  of  my  promise. 
It 's  not  an  amusement  for  respectable  Englishwomen, 
or  men  either.  You  will  agree  with  me  there,  mon- 
sieur?" and  the  major  glanced  at  the  Pole,  who  replied, 
with  his  peculiar  smile  :  — 

"  Surely,  yes.  It  is  great  foil}'  and  waste  of  time 
and  mone}^ ;  yet  I  have  known  one  man  who  found  some 
good  in  it,  or,  rather,  brought  good  out  of  it.  I  have  a 
friend  who  has  a  mania  for  giving.     His  own  fortune 


THE   BARON'S   GLOVES.  193 

was  spent  in  helping  needy  students  at  the  University, 
and  poor  professors.  This  displeased  his  father,  and 
he  refused  supplies,  except  enough  for  his  simple  per- 
sonal wants.  Sigismund  chafed  at  this,  and  being  skil- 
ful at  all  games,  as  a  gentleman  may  be  in  the  way  of 
amusement,  he  resolved  to  play  with  those  whose  money 
was  wasted  on  frivolities,  and  give  his  winnings  to  his 
band  of  paupers." 

"  How  did  it  succeed,  this  odd  fancy?  "  asked  Helen, 
with  an  interested  face,  while  Amy  pinched  her  arm  at 
the  word  "  Sigismund." 

*'  Excellently.  M}-  friend  won  often,  and  as  his  pur- 
pose became  known  it  caused  no  unkind  feeling,  this 
unusual  success,  for  fortune  seemed  to  favor  his  kind 
object." 

"  Wrong,  nevertheless,  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come 
of  it,"  said  the  major,  morally. 

"It  may  be  so;  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  censure 
my  benefactor.  He  has  done  much  for  my  countrymen 
and  myself,  and  is  so  truly  noble  I  can  see  no  fault  in  him." 

"What  an  odd  name!  Sigismund  is  German,  is  it 
not?  "  asked  Amy,  in  the  most  artless  tone  of  interest. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  and  Palsdorf  is  a  true  German  ; 
much  courage,  strength,  and  intellect,  with  the  gaj-ety 
and  simplicit}^  of  a  bo}^  He  hates  slaver}-  of  all  kinds, 
and  will  be  free  at  all  costs.  He  is  a  good  son,  but  his 
father  is  tjTannical,  and  asks  too  much.  Sigismund 
will  not  submit  to  sell  himself,  and  so  is  in  disgrace  for 
a  time." 

"  Palsdorf!  —  was  not  that  the  name  of  the  count  or 
baron  we  heard  them  talking  of  at  Coblentz  ?  "  said 
Helen  to  Amy,  with  a  well-feigned  air  of  uncertainty. 

13 


194  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Yes ;  I  heard  something  of  a  duel  and  a  broken 
betrothal,  I  think.  The  people  seemed  to  consider  the 
baron  a  wild  3'onng  man,  so  it  could  not  have  been  your 
friend,  sir,"  was  Amy's  demure  reply,  as  she  glanced  at 
Helen  with  mirthful  eyes,  as  if  to  say,  "  How  our  baron 
haunts  us ! " 

"It  is  the  same,  doubtless.  Many  consider  him 
wild,  because  he  is  original,  and  dares  act  for  himself. 
As  it  is  well  known,  I  may  tell  you  the  truth  of  the 
duel  and  the  betrothal,  if  3'ou  care  to  hear  a  little  ro- 
mance." 

Casimer  looked  eager  to  defend  his  friend,  and  as  the 
girls  were  longing  to  hear  the  romance,  permission  was 
given. 

"  In  Germany,  you  know,  the  young  people  are  often 
betrothed  in  childhood  by  the  parents,  and  sometimes 
never  meet  till  they  are  grown.  Usually  all  goes  well ; 
but  not  alwa3's,  for  love  cannot  come  at  command. 
Sigismund  was  plighted,  when  a  boy  of  fifteen,  to  his 
young  cousin,  and  then  sent  away  to  the  Universit}'  till 
of  age.  On  returning,  he  was  to  travel  a  year  or  two, 
and  then  marry.  He  gladly  went  awa}^  and  with  in- 
creasing disquiet  saw  the  time  draw  near  when  he  must 
keep  his  troth-plight." 

''  Hum  !  loved  some  one  else.  Very  unfortunate  to 
be  sure,"  murmured  the  major  wdth  a  sigh. 

"  Not  so ;  he  only  loved  his  liberty,  and  pretty  Minna 
was  less  dear  than  a  life  of  perfect  freedom.  He  went 
back  at  the  appointed  time,  saw  his  cousin,  tried  to  do 
his  duty  and  love  her ;  found  it  impossible,  and,  dis- 
covering that  Minna  loved  another,  vowed  he  would 
never  make  her  unhappiness  as  well  as  his  own.     The 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  195 

old  baron  stormed,  but  the  3'oung  one  was  firm,  and 
would  not  listen  to  a  marriage  without  love  ;  but  pleaded 
for  Minna,  wished  his  rival  success,  and  set  out  again 
on  his  travels." 

"And  the  duel?"  asked  the  major,  who  took  less 
interest  in  love  than  war. 

"  That  was  as  characteristic  as  the  other  act.  A  son 
of  one  high  in  office  at  Berlin  circulated  false  reports  of 
the  cause  of  Palsdorf's  refusal  of  the  alliance  —  reports 
injurious  to  Minna.  Sigismund  settled  the  matter  in 
the  most  effectual  manner,  by  challenging  and  wounding 
the  man.  But  for  court  influence  it  would  have  gone 
hardly  with  my  friend.  The  storm,  however,  has  blown 
over ;  Minna  will  be  happy  with  her  lover,  and  Sigis- 
mund with  his  liberty,  till  he  tires  of  it." 

"Is  he  handsome,  this  hero  of  yours?"  said  Amy, 
feeling  the  ring  under  her  glove,  for  in  spite -of  Helen's 
advice,  she  insisted  on  wearing  it,  that  it  might  be  at 
hand  to  return  at  any  moment,  should  chance  again 
bring  the  baron  in  their  way. 

' '  A  true  German  of  the  old  type ;  blond  and  blue- 
eyed,  tall  and  strong.  My  hero  in  good  truth  —  brave 
and  loyal,  tender  and  true,"  was  the  enthusiastic 
answer. 

"  I  hate  fair  men,"  pouted  Amy,  under  her  breath,  as 
the  major  asked  some  question  about  hotels. 

"Take  a  new  hero,  then;  nothing  can  be  more  ro- 
mantic than  that,"  whispered  Helen,  glancing  at  the 
pale,  dark-haired  figure  wrapped  in  the  military  cloak 
opposite. 

"  I  will,  and  leave  the  baron  to  you  ;  "  said  Amy,  with 
&  stifled  laugh. 


196  PROVERB   STORIES. 


a 


Hush !  Here  are  Baden  and  Karl,"  replied  Helen, 
thankful  for  the  interruption. 

All  was  bustle  in  a  moment,  and  taking  leave  of  them 
with  an  air  of  reluctance,  the  Pole  walked  awa}-,  leaving 
Amy  looking  after  him  wistfully,  quite  unconscious  that 
she  stood  in  everybody's  wa}^,  and  that  her  uncle  was 
beckoning  impatiently  from  the  carriage  door. 

"  Poor  bo}^ !  I  wish  he  had  some  one  to  take  care  of 
him,"  she  sighed,  half  aloud. 

"Mademoiselle,  the  major  waits;"  and  Karl  came 
up,  hat  in  hand,  just  in  time  to  hear  her  and  glance 
after  Casimer,  with  an  odd  expression. 


V. 

LUDMILLA. 


"  I  WONDER  what  that  young  man's  name  was.  Did 
he  mention  it,  Helen  ?  "  said  the  major,  pausing  in  his 
march  up  and  down  the  room,  as  if  the  question  was 
suggested  by  the  sight  of  the  little  baskets,  which  the 
girls  had  kept. 

"No,  uncle;  but  you  can  easily  ask  Hoffman,"  re- 
plied Helen. 

"  By  the  wa}^,  Karl,  who  was  the  Polish  gentleman 
who  came  on  with  us?"  asked  the  major  a  moment 
afterward,  as  the  courier  came  in  with  newspapers. 

"  Casimer  Teblinski,  sir." 

"  A  baron?  "  asked  Am}^,  who  was  decidedly  a  3'oung 
lady  of  one  idea  just  then. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  197 

"No,  mademoiselle,  but  of  a  noble  family,  as  the 
*  ski '  denotes,  for  that  is  to  Polish  and  Russian  names 
what  '  von '  is  to  German  and  '  de '  to  French." 

"I  was  rather  interested  in  him.  Where  did  3^ou 
pick  him  up,  Hoffman  ?  "  said  the  major. 

"  In  Paris,  where  he  was  with  fellow-exiles." 

"He  is  what  he  seems,  is  he?  —  no  impostor,  or 
an3'thing  of  that  sort?  One  is  often  deceived,  you 
know." 

"  On  m}'  honor,  sir,  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  as  brave 
as  he  is  accomplished  and  excellent." 

"  Will  he  die?  "  asked  Amy,  pathetically. 

"  With  care  he  would  recover,  I  think ;  but  there  is 
no  one  to  nurse  him,  so  the  poor  lad  must  take  his 
chance  and  trust  in  heaven  for  help." 

"  How  sad !  I  wish  we  were  going  his  wa}^  so  that 
we  might  do  something  for  him  —  at  least  give  him  the 
society  of  his  friend." 

Helen  glanced  at  Hoffman,  feeling  that  if  he  were  not 
already  engaged  by  them,  he  would  devote  himself  to 
the  invalid  without  any  thought  of  payment. 

"  Perhaps  we  are.  You  want  to  see  the  Lake  of 
Geneva,  Chillon,  and  that  neighborhood.  Why  not  go 
now,  instead  of  later?  " 

"Will  you,  uncle?  That's  capital!  We  need  say 
nothing,  but  go  on  and  help  the  poor  boy,  if  we  can." 

Helen  spoke  like  a  matron  of  forty,  and  looked  as 
full  of  maternal  kindness  as  if  the  Pole  were  not  out 
of  his  teens. 

The  courier  bowed,  the  major  laughed  behind  his 
paper,  and  Amy  gave  a  sentimental  sigh  to  the  memory 
of  the  baron,  in  whom  her  interest  was  failing. 


198  PROVERB   STORIES. 

They  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Pole  that  evening 
at  the  Kursaal,  but  next  morning  they  met,  and  he  was 
invited  to  join  their  part}'  for  a  little  expedition. 

The  major  was  in  fine  spirits,  and  Helen  assumed  her 
maternal  air  toward  both  invalids,  for  the  sound  of  that 
hollow  cough  always  brought  a  shadow  over  her  face, 
recalling  the  brother  she  had  lost. 

Amy  was  particularly  merry  and  charming,  and  kept 
the  whole  party  laughing  at  her  comical  efforts  to  learn 
Polish  and  teach  English  as  they  drove  up  the  mountain- 
side to  the  old  Schloss. 

"  I  'm  not  equal  to  mounting  all  those  steps  for  a  \\QVf 
I  've  seen  a  dozen  times  ;  but  pray  take  care  of  the  child, 
Nell,  or  she  '11  get  lost  again,  as  at  Heidelberg,"  said 
the  major,  when  they  had  roamed  about  the  lower  part 
of  the  place  ;  for  a  cool  seat  in  the  courtyard  and  a  glass 
of  beer  were  more  tempting  than  turrets  and  prospects 
to  the  stout  gentleman. 

^'  She  shall  not  be  lost ;  I  am  her  bod3^-guard.  It  is 
steep  —  permit  that  I  lead  you,  mademoiselle  ;"  Casimer 
offered  his  hand  to  Amy,  and  they  began  their  winding 
way.  As  she  took  the  hand,  the  girl  blushed  and  half 
smiled,  remembering  the  vaults  and  the  baron. 

"I  like  this  better,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  the}^ 
climbed  step  by  step,  often  pausing  to  rest  in  the  em- 
brasures of  the  loopholes,  where  the  sun  glanced  in,  the 
balmy  wind  blew,  and  vines  peeped  from  without,  mak- 
ing a  pretty  picture  of  the  girl,  as  she  sat  with  rosy 
color  on  her  usually  pale  cheeks,  brown  curls  fluttering 
about  her  forehead,  laughing  lips,  and  bright  ej^es  full 
of  pleasant  changes.  Leaning  opposite  in  the  narrow 
stairway,  Casimer  had  time  to  study  the  little  tableau 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  399 

in  many  lights,  and  in  spite  of  the  dark  glasses,  to  con- 
vc}^  warm  glances  of  admiration,  of  which,  however,  the 
3'oung  coquette  seemed  utterly  unconscious. 

Helen  came  leisurely  after,  and  Hoffman  followed 
with  a  telescope,  wishing,  as  he  went,  that  his  country- 
women possessed  such  dainty  feet  as  those  going  on 
before  him,  for  which  masculine  iniquity  he  will  be  par- 
doned by  all  who  have  seen  the  foot  of  a  German  Frau- 
lein. 

It  was  worth  the  long  ascent,  that  wide-spread  land- 
scape basking  in  the  August  glow. 

Sitting  on  a  fallen  block  of  stone,  while  Casimer  held 
a  sun-umbrella  over  her,  Amy  had  raptures  at  her  ease  ; 
while  Helen  sketched  and  asked  questions  of  Hoffman, 
who  stood  beside  her,  watching  her  progress  with  in- 
terest. Once  when,  after  repeated  efforts  to  catch  a 
curious  effect  of  light  and  shade,  she  uttered  an  im- 
patient little  exclamation,  Karl  made  a  gesture  as  if  to 
take  the  pencil  and  show  her,  but  seemed  to  recollect 
himself  and  drew  back  with  a  hasty,  "Pardon,  made- 
moiselle." Helen  glanced  up  and  saw  the  expression  of 
his  face,  which  plainly  betrayed  that  for  a  moment  the 
gentleman  had  forgotten  he  was  a  courier.  She  was 
glad  of  it,  for  it  was  a  daily  trial  to  her  to  order  this 
man  about ;  and  following  the  womanly  impulse,  she 
smiled  and  ofTered  the  pencil,  saying  simpl}',  — 

"  1  felt  sure  you  understood  it ;  please  show  me." 

He  did  so,  and  a  few  masterl}'  strokes  gave  the  sketch 
what  it  needed.  As  he  bent  near  her  to  do  this,  Helen 
stole  a  glance  at  the  grave,  dark  face,  and  suddenly  a 
disturbed  look  dawned  in  the  eyes  fixed  on  the  gloss}^ 
black  locks  pushed  off  the  courier's  forehead,  for  he  had 


200  PROVERB  STORIES. 

removed  his  hat  when  she  spoke  to  him.  He  seemed 
to  feel  that  something  was  amiss,  shot  a  quick  glance  at 
her,  retm'ned  the  pencil  and  rose  erect,  with  an  almost 
defiant  air,  3'et  something  of  shame  in  his  ej^e,  as  his 
lips  moved  as  if  to  speak  impetnousl}'.  But  not  a  word 
did  he  utter,  for  Helen  touched  her  forehead  signifi- 
cantly, and  said  in 'a  low  tone,  — 

"  I  am  an  artist ;  let  me  recommend  Vandyke  brown, 
which  is  not  affected  by  heat." 

Hoffman  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  other  pair, 
but  Amy  was  making  an  ivy  wreath  for  her  hat,  and 
the  Pole  pulling  sprays  for  the  absorbing  work.  Speak- 
ing rapidly,  Karl  said,  with  a  peculiar  blending  of  merri- 
ment, humilit}',  and  anxiet}^  in  his  tone,  — 

"Mademoiselle,  jow  are  quick  to  discover  my  dis- 
guise ;  will  you  also  be  kind  in  concealing  ?  I  have 
enemies  as  well  as  friends,  whom  I  desire  to  escape ;  I 
would  earn  my  bread  unknown ;  Monsieur  le  Major 
keeps  my  foolish  secret ;  may  I  hope  for  equal  goodness 
from  yourself  ?  " 

"  You  ma}^,  I  do  not  forget  that  I  owe  ni}^  life  to  3'ou, 
nor  that  you  are  a  gentleman.  Trust  me,  I  never  will 
betray  you." 

"  Thanks,  thanks !  there  will  come  a  time  when  I 
ma}'  confess  the  truth  and  be  myself,  but  not  3'et,"  and 
his  regretful  tone  was  emphasized  by  an  impatient  ges- 
ture, as  if  concealment  was  irksome. 

''  Nell,  come  down  to  lunch ;  uncle  is  signalling  as  if 
he  'd  gone  mad.  No,  monsieur,  it  is  quite  impossible  ; 
3^ou  cannot  reach  the  harebells  without  risking  too  much  ; 
come  away  and  forget  that  I  wanted  them." 

Amy  led  the  way,  and  all  went  down  more  quietly 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  201 

than  the}^  came  np,  especially  Helen  and  Hoffman.  An 
excellent  lunch  waited  on  one  of  the  tables  in  front  of 
the  old  gatewa}^,  and  having  done  justice  to  it,  the  major 
made  himself  comfortable  with  a  cigar,  bidding  the  girls 
keep  near,  for  they  must  be  off  in  half  an  hour.  Hoff- 
man went  to  see  to  the  horses,  Casimer  strolled  away 
with  him,  and  the  young  ladies  went  to  gather  wild 
flowers  at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 

' '  Not  a  harebell  here  ;  is  n't  it  provoking,  when  they 
grow  in  tufts  up  there,  where  one  can't  reach  them. 
Mercy,  what's  that?  Run,  Nell,  the  old  wall  is  coming 
down  ! " 

Both  had  been  grubbing  in  a  damp  nook,  where  ferns 
and  mosses  grew  luxuriantly ;  the  fall  of  a  bit  of  stone 
and  a  rending  sound  above  made  them  fly  back  to  the 
path  and  look  up. 

Amj^  covered  her  e^^es,  and  Helen  grew  pale,  for  part 
wa}'  down  the  crumbling  tower,  clinging  like  a  bird  to 
the  thick  ivy  stems,  hung  Casimer,  coolly  gathering 
harebells  from  the  clefts  of  the  wall. 

"  Hush  ;  don't  cry  out  or  speak  ;  it  may  startle  him. 
Crazy  boy !  Let  us  see  what  he  will  do,"  whispered 
Helen. 

* '  He  can't  go  back,  the  vines  are  so  torn  and  weak ; 
and  how  will  he  get  down  the  lower  wall  ?  for  you  see 
the  ivy  grows  up  from  that  ledge,  and  there  is  nothing 
below.  How  could  he  do  it  ?  I  was  only  joking  when 
I  lamented  that  there  were  no  knights  now,  ready  to 
leap  into  a  lion's  den  for  a  lady's  glove,"  returned  Amy, 
half  angry. 

In  breathless  silence  they  watched  the  climber  till  his 
cap  was  full  of  flowers,  and  taking  it  between  his  teeth, 


202  PROVERB   STORIES. 

he  rapidly  swung  down  to  the  wide  ledge,  from  which 
there  appeared  to  be  no  way  of  escape  but  a  reckless 
leap  of  many  feet  on  to  the  turf  below. 

The  girls  stood  in  the  shadow  of  an  old  gatewa}',  un- 
perceived,  and  waited  anxiously  what  should  follow. 

Lightly  folding  and  fastening  the  cap  together,  he 
dropped  it  down,  and,  leaning  forward,  tried  to  catch 
the  top  of  a  3^oung  birch  rustling  close  by  the  wall. 
Twice  he  missed  it ;  the  first  time  he  frowned,  but  the 
second  he  uttered  an  emphatic,  "  Deuce  take  it !  " 

Helen  and  Amy  looked  at  each  other  with  a  mutual 
smile  and  exclamation,  — 

'"  He  knows  some  English,  then  !  " 

There  was  time  for  no  more  —  a  violent  rustle,  a  boj^- 
ish  laugh,  and  down  swung  the  slender  tree,  with  the 
young  man  clinging  to  the  top. 

As  he  landed  safely,  Helen  cried,  "  Bravo  !  "  and  Amy 
rushed  out,  exclaiming  reproachfully,  yet  admiringl}',  — 

' '  How  could  you  do  it  and  frighten  us  so  ?  I  shall 
never  express  a  wish  before  you  again,  for  if  I  wanted 
the  moon  you  'd  rashl}'  try  to  get  it,  I  know." 

"  Certainement\  mademoiselle,"  was  the  smiling  reply, 
Casimer  presented  the  flowers,  as  if  the  exploit  was  a 
mere  trifle. 

"Now  I  shall  go  and  press  them  at  once  in  uncle's 
guide-book.  Come  and  help  me,  else  3'ou  will  be  in 
mischief  again."  And  Amy  led  the  way  to  the  major 
with  hei  flowers  and  their  giver. 

Helen  roamed  into  one  of  the  ruined  courts  for  a  last 
look  at  a  fountain  which  i)lcascd  her  eye.  A  sort  of 
cloister  ran  round  the  court,  open  on  both  sides,  and 
standing  in  one  of  these  arched  nooks,  she  saw  Hoff*man 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  203 

and  a  5'onng  girl  talking  animated^.  The  girl  was 
pretty,  well  dressed,  and  seemed  refusing  something 
for  which  the  other  pleaded  eagerl}'.  His  arm  was 
about  her,  and  she  leaned  affectionatel}^  upon  him,  with 
a  white  hand  now  and  then  caressing  his  face,  which 
was  full  of  sparkle  and  vivacity  now.  They  seemed 
about  to  part  as  Helen  looked,  for  the  maiden  standing 
on  tiptoe,  laughingl}'  offered  her  blooming  cheek,  and 
as  Karl  kissed  it  warml}',  he  said  in  Gennan,  so  audibly 
Helen  heard  ever}'  word,  — 

"  Farewell,  tc^j  Ludmilla.  Keep  silent  and  I  shall 
soon  be  with  3'ou.  Embrace  the  little  one,  and  do  not 
let  him  forget  me." 

Both  left  the  place  as  thc}^  spoke,  each  going  a  differ- 
ent wa}^  and  Helen  slowly  returned  to  her  party,  sajing 
to  herself  in  a  troubled  tone,  — 

'•'Ludmilla'  and  'the  little  one'  are  his  wife  and 
child,  doubtless.     I  wonder  if  uncle  knows  that." 

When  Hoffman  next  appeared  she  could  not  resist 
looking  at  him  ;  but  the  accustomed  gravity  was  re- 
sumed, and  nothing  remained  of  the  glow  and  bright- 
ness he  had  worn  when  with  Ludmilla  in  the  cloister. 


VI. 

CHATEAU   DE   LA   TOUR. 

Helen  looked  serious  and  Amy  indignant  when  their 
uncle  joined  them,  read}"  to  set  out  b}^  the  afternoon 
train,  all  having  dined  and  rested  after  the  morning's 
excursion. 


204  PROVERB  STORIES. 

"  Well,  little  girls,  what 's  the  matter  now?  "  he  asked, 
paternally,  for  the  excellent  man  adored  his  nieces. 

'•'•  Helen  says  it 's  not  best  to  go  on  with  the  Pole,  and 
is  perfectly  nonsensical,  uncle,"  began  Amj^,  petulantl}^, 
and  not  very  coherentl3\ 

*'  Better  be  silly  now  than  sorrj-  b}^  and  by.  I  only 
suggested  that,  being  interesting,  and  Am_y  romantic,  she 
might  find  this  3'oung  man  too  charming,  if  we  see  too 
much  of  him,"  said  Helen. 

"Bless  m}^  soul,  what  an  idea!"  cried  the  major. 
"Why,  Nell,  he's  an  invalid,  a  Catholic,  and  a  for- 
eigner, any  one  of  which  objections  are  enough  to  settle 
that  matter.  Little  Amy  is  n't  so  foolish  as  to  be  in 
danger  of  losing  her  heart  to  a  person  so  entirely'  out  of 
the  question  as  this  poor  lad,  is  she?  " 

'*  Of  course  not.  You  do  me  justice,  uncle.  Nell 
thinks  she  ma^^  pit}^  and  pet  any  one  she  likes  because 
she  is  five  years  older  than  I,  and  entireh'  forgets  that 
she  is  a  great  deal  more  attractive  than  a  feeble  thing 
like  me.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  losing  m}^  heart  to 
Hoffman  as  to  the  Pole,  even  if  he  w^as  n't  what  he  is. 
One  may  surely  be  kind  to  a  dj'ing  man,  without  being 
accused  of  coquetry ; "  and  Amy  sobbed  in  the  most 
heart-rending  manner. 

Helen  comforted  her  b}^  withdrawing  all  objections, 
and  promising  to  leave  the  matter  in  the  major's  hands. 
But  she  shook  her  head  privately  when  she  saw  the  ill- 
disguised  eagerness  with  which  her  cousin  glanced  up 
and  down  the  platform  after  the}^  were  in  the  train,  and 
she  whispered  to  her  uncle,  unobserved,  — 

"  Leave  future  meetings  to  chance,  and  don't  ask  the 
Pole  in,  if  you  can  help  it." 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  205 

*'  Nonsense,  my  dear.  You  are  as  particular  as  your 
aunt.  The  lad  amuses  me,  and  you  can't  deny  3'ou  like 
to  nurse  sick  heroes,"  was  all  the  answer  she  got,  as  the 
major,  with  true  masculine  perversit}^,  put  his  head  out 
of  the  window  and  hailed  Casimer  as  he  was  passing 
with  a  bow. 

"  Here,  Teblinski,  my  good  fellow,  don't  desert  us. 
We  've  always  a  spare  seat  for  you,  if  you  have  n't 
pleasanter  quarters." 

With  a  flush  of  pleasure  the  young  man  came  up,  but 
hesitated  to  accept  the  invitation  till  Helen  seconded  it 
with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

Amy  was  in  an  injured  mood,  and,  shrouded  in  a 
great  blue  veil,  pensively  reclined  in  her  corner  as  if 
indifferent  to  everything  about  her.  But  soon  the  cloud 
passed,  and  she  emerged  in  a  radiant  state  of  good 
humor,  which  lasted  unbroken  until  the  journey 
ended. 

For  two  days  they  went  on  together,  a  very  happy 
part}',  for  the  major  called  in  Hoffman  to  see  his  friend 
and  describe  the  places  through  which  they  passed.  An 
arrangement  very  agreeable  to  all,  as  Karl  was  a  favor- 
ite, and  every  one  missed  him  when  away. 

At  Lausanne  they  waited  while  he  crossed  the  lake  to 
secure  rooms  at  Vevay.  On  his  return  he  reported  that 
all  the  hotels  and  pensions  were  fall,  but  that  at  La  Tour 
he  had  secured  rooms  for  a  few  weeks  in  a  quaint  old 
chateau  on  the  banks  of  the  lake. 

"  Count  Severin  is  absent  in  Eg3'pt,  and  the  house- 
keeper has  permission  to  let  the  apartments  to  transient 
visitors.  The  suite  of  rooms  I  speak  of  were  engaged 
to  a  party  who  are  detained   b}'  sickness  —  they  are 


206  PROVERB  STORIES. 

cheap,  pleasant,  and  comfortable.  A  salon  and  four 
bed-rooms.  I  engaged  them  all,  thinking  that  Teblinski 
might  like  a  room  there  till  he  finds  lodgings  at  Mont- 
reaux.  We  can  enter  at  once,  and  I  am  sure  the  ladies 
will  approve  of  the  picturesque  place." 

"  Well  done,  Hoffman  ;  off  we  go  without  dela}',  for 
I  really  long  to  rest  my  old  bones  in  something  like  a 
home,  after  this  long  trip,"  said  the  major,  who  always 
kept  his  little  troop  in  light  marching  order. 

The  sail  across  that  loveliest  of  lakes  prepared  the 
new-comers  to  be  charmed  with  all  they  saw  ;  and  when, 
entering  by  the  old  stone  gate,  the}'  were  led  into  a  large 
saloon,  quaintly  furnished  and  opening  into  a  terrace- 
garden  overhanging  the  water,  with  Chillon  and  the 
Alps  in  sight,  Amj^  declared  nothing  could  be  more  per- 
fect, and  Helen's  face  proved  her  satisfaction. 

An  English  widow  and  two  quiet  old  German  profes- 
sors on  a  vacation  were  the  only  inmates  besides  them- 
selves and  the  buxom  Swiss  housekeeper  and  her 
maids. 

It  was  late  when  our  party  arrived,  and  there  was 
only  time  for  a  hasty  survey  of  their  rooms  and  a  stroll 
in  the  garden  before  dinner. 

The  great  chamber,  with  its  shadowy  bed,  dark  mir- 
rors, ghostly  wainscot-doors  and  narrow  windows,  had 
not  been  brightened  for  a  long  time  b}^  such  a  charming 
little  apparition  as  Am}^  when  she  shook  out  her  air}^ 
muslins,  smoothed  her  curls,  and  assumed  all  manner  of 
distracting  devices  for  the  captivation  of  mankind. 
Even  Helen,  though  not  much  given  to  personal  vanity, 
found  herself  putting  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  studying 
the  effect  of  bracelets  on  her  handsome  arms,  as  if  there 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  207 

was  some  especial  need  of  looking  her  best  on  this 
occasion. 

Both  were  certainly  great  ornaments  to  the  drawing- 
room  that  evening,  as  the  old  professors  agreed  while 
the}'  sat  blinking  at  them,  like  a  pair  of  benign  owls. 
Casimer  surprised  them  by  his  skill  in  music,  for,  though 
forbidden  to  sing  on  account  of  his  weak  lungs,  he 
pla3'ed  as  if  inspired.  Amy  hovered  about  him  like  a 
moth ;  the  major  cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  the 
plump  widow  ;  and  Helen  stood  at  the  window,  enjoying 
the  lovely  night  and  music,  till  something  happened 
which  destro3'ed  her  pleasure  in  both. 

The  window  was  open,  and,  leaning  from  it,  she  was 
watching  the  lake,  when  the  sound  of  a  heavy  sigh  caught 
her  ear.  There  was  no  moon,  but  through  the  starlight 
she  saw  a  man's  figure  among  the  shrubs  below,  sitting 
with  bent  head  and  hidden  face  in  the  forlorn  attitude 
of  one  shut  out  from  the  music,  light,  and  gayety  that 
reigned  within. 

"It  is  Karl,"  she  thought,  and  was  about  to  speak, 
when,  as  if  startled  by  some  sound  she  did  not  hear,  he 
rose  and  vanished  in  the  gloom  of  the  garden. 

"  Poor  man !  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  child,  per- 
haps, sitting  here  alone  while  all  the  rest  make  merr}^, 
with  no  care  for  him.  Uncle  must  see  to  this ;  "  and 
Helen  fell  into  a  reverie  till  Amy  came  to  propose  retiring. 

"  I  meant  to  have  seen  where  all  these  doors  led,  but 
was  so  busy  dressing  I  had  no  time,  so  must  leave  it  for 
m}'  amusement  to-morrow.  Uncle  says  it 's  a  very 
Radcliffian  place.  How  like  an  angel  that  man  did 
pla}' !  "  chattered  Amy,  and  lulled  herself  to  sleep  by 
humming  the  last  air  Casimer  had  given  them. 


208  PROVERB  STORIES. 

Helen  could  not  sleep,  for  the  lonely  figure  in  the 
garden  haunted  her,  and  she  wearied  herself  with  con- 
jectures about  Hoffman  and  his  myster3^  Hour  after 
hour  rung  from  the  cuckoo-clock  in  the  hall,  but  still  she 
lay  awake,  watching  the  curious  shadows  in  the  room, 
and  exciting  herself  with  recalling  the  tales  of  German 
goblins  with  which  the  courier  had  amused  them  the  day 
before. 

''  It  is  close  and  must}^  here,  with  all  this  old  tapestry' 
and  stuff  about;  I'll  open  the  other  window,"  she 
thought ;  and,  noiselesslj^  slipping  from  Amy's  side,  she 
threw  on  wrapper  and  slippers,  lighted  her  candle  and 
tried  to  unbolt  the  tall,  diamond-paned  lattice.  It  was 
rusty  and  would  not  yield,  and,  giving  it  up,  she  glanced 
about  to  see  whence  air  could  be  admitted.  There 
were  four  doors  in  the  room,  all  low  and  arched,  with 
clumsy  locks  and  heavy  handles.  One  opened  into  a 
closet,  one  into  the  passage ;  the  third  was  locked,  but 
the  fourth  opened  easily,  and,  lifting  her  light,  she 
peeped  into  a  small  octagon  room,  full  of  all  manner  of 
curiosities.  What  they  were  she  had  no  time  to  see, 
for  her  startled  eyes  were  riveted  on  an  object  that  turned 
her  faint  and  cold  with  terror. 

A  heavy  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
seated  at  it,  with  some  kind  of  weapon  before  him,  was 
a  man  who  looked  over  his  shoulder,  with  a  ghastl}^ 
face  half  hidden  by  hair  and  beard,  and  fierce  black 
eyes  as  full  of  malignant  menace  as  was  the  clinched 
hand  holding  the  pistol.  One  instant  Helen  looked,  the 
next  flung  to  the  door,  l)oltcd  it  and  dropped  into  a 
chair,  trembling  in  ever}^  limb.  The  noise  did  not  wake 
Amy,    and    a   moment's    thought    showed   Helen    the 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  209 

wisdom  of  keeping  her  in  ignorance  of  this  affair. 
She  knew  the  major  was  close  b}',  and  possessing  much 
courage,  she  resolved  to  wait  a  little  before  rousing  the 
house. 

Hardly  had  she  collected  herself,  when  steps  were 
heard  moving  softly  in  the  octagon  room.  Her  light 
had  gone  out  as  she  closed  the  door,  and  sitting  close 
b}^  in  the  dark,  she  heard  the  sound  of  some  one  breath- 
ing as  he  listened  at  the  ke3'-hole.  Then  a  careful 
hand  tried  the  door,  so  noiselessl3"  that  no  sleeper  would 
have  been  awakened ;  and  as  if  to  guard  against  a 
second  surprise,  the  unknown  person  drew  two  bolts 
across  the  door  and  stole  away. 

"Safe  for  a  time;  but  I'll  not  pass  another  night 
under  this  roof,  unless  this  is  satisfactorily  cleared  up," 
thought  Helen,  now  feeling  more  angr}^  than  frightened. 

The  last  hour  that  struck  was  three,  and  soon  the 
summer  dawn  reddened  the  sky.  Dressing  herself, 
Helen  sat  by  Amj-,  a  sleepless  guard,  till  she  woke, 
smiling  and  ros}^  as  a  child.  Saying  nothing  of  her 
last  night's  alarm,  Helen  went  down  to  breakfast  a  little 
paler  than  usual,  but  otherwise  unchanged.  The  major 
never  liked  to  be  disturbed  till  he  had  broken  his  fast, 
and  the  moment  they  rose  from  the  table  he  ex- 
claimed,— 

"Now,  girls,  come  and  see  the  mysteries  of  Udol- 
pho." 

"I  '11  say  nothing,  3^et,"  thought  Helen,  feeling 
braver  b}"  daylight,  yet  troubled  by  her  secret,  for  Hoff- 
man miglit  be  a  traitor,  and  this  charming  chateau  a  den 
of  thieves.  Such  things  had  been,  and  she  was  in  a 
mood  to  believe  anything. 

14 


210  PROVERB  STORIES. 

The  upper  stoiy  was  a  perfect  museum  of  antique 
relics,  very  entertaining  to  examine.  Having  Ilnibhcel 
tliese,  Hoffman,  who  acted  as  guide,  led  them  into  a 
little  gloom}'  room  containing  a  straw  pallet,  a  stone 
table  with  a  loaf  and  pitcher  on  it,  and,  kneeling  before 
a  crucifix,  where  the  light  from  a  single  slit  in  the  wall 
fell  on  him,  was  the  figure  of  a  monk.  The  waxen 
mask  was  life-like,  the  attitude  effective,  and  the  cell 
excellently  arranged.  Amy  cried  out  when  she  first  saw 
it,  but  a  second  glance  reassured  her,  and  she  patted 
the  bald  head  appro vingl}',  as  Karl  explained,  — 

"  Count  Severiu  is  an  antiquarian,  and  amuses  him- 
self with  things  of  this  sort.  In  old  times  there  really 
was  a  hermit  here,  and  this  is  his  effig}^  Come  down 
these  narrow  stairs,  if  you  please,  and  see  the  rest  of 
the  mummery." 

Down  they  went,  and  the  instant  Helen  looked  about 
her,  she  burst  into  a  hysterical  laugh,  for  there  sat  her 
ruflSan,  exactly  as  she  saw  him,  glaring  over  his  shoul- 
der with  threatening  eyes,  and  one  hand  on  the  pistol. 
They  all  looked  at  her,  for  she  was  pale,  and  her  merri- 
ment unnatural ;  so,  feeling  she  had  excited  curiosity, 
she  gratified  it  b}^  narrating  her  night's  adventure. 
Hoffman  looked  much  concerned. 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,  the  door  should  have  been 
bolted  on  this  side.  It  usually  is,  but  that  room  being 
unused,  it  was  forgotten.  I  remembered  it,  and  having 
risen  earl}^  crept  up  to  make  sure  that  3'ou  did  not 
come  upon  this  ugly  thing  unexpectedl3\  But  I  was 
too  late,  it  seems  ;  you  have  suffered,  to  my  sorrow." 

''  Dear  Nell,  and  that  was  why  1  found  3'ou  so  pale 
and  cold  and  quiet,  sitting  by  me  when  I  woke,  guard- 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  211 

ing  mc  lixithfully  as  3'ou  promised  3'ou  would.  IIow 
brave  and  kind  3'Ou  were  !  " 

"  Villain  !  I  should  much  like  to  fire  your  own  pistols 
at  you  for  this  prank  of  yours." 

And  Casimer  laughingly  filhped  the  image  on  its 
absurdl}^  aquiline  nose. 

"  What  in  tlie  name  of  common  sense  is  this  goblin 
here  for?"  demanded  the  major,  testily. 

"  There  is  a  legend  that  once  the  owner  of  the  chateau 
amused  himself  by  deco3'ing  travellers  here,  putting 
them  to  sleep  in  that  room,  and  b}'  various  devices 
alluring  them  thither.  Here,  one  step  beyond  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  was  a  trap,  down  which  the  un- 
fortunates were  precipitated  to  the  dungeon  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  tower,  there  to  die  and  be  cast  into  the  lake 
through  a  water-gate,  still  to  be  seen.  Severin  keeps 
this  flattering  likeness  of  the  rascal,  as  he  does  tlie  monk 
above,  to  amuse  visitors  b}^  daylight,  not  at  night, 
mademoiselle." 

And  Hoffman  looked  wrathfulty  at  the  image,  as  if  he 
would  much  enjo}^  sending  it  down  the  trap. 

"  How  ridiculous  I  I  shall  not  go  about  this  place 
alone,  for  fear  of  lighting  upon  some  horror  of  this  sort. 
I  've  had  enough  ;  come  awa\'  into  the  garden  ;  it 's  full 
of  roses,  and  we  may  have  as  man}^  as  we  like." 

As  she  spoke  Amy  involuntarily  put  out  her  hand  for 
Casimer  to  lead  her  .down  the  steep  stone  steps,  and  he 
pressed  the  little  hand  with  a  tender  look  which  caused 
it  to  be  hastily  withdrawn. 

"Here  are  your  roses.  Pretty  flower;  I  know  its 
meaning  in  English,  for  it  is  the  same  with  us.  To  give 
a  bud  to  a  lady  is  to  confess  the  beginning  of  love,  a 


212  PROVERB  STORIES. 

half  open  one  tells  of  its  growth,  and  a  full-blown  one 
is  to  declare  one's  passion.  Do  3'ou  have  that  custom 
in  your  land,  mademoiselle?  " 

He  had  gathered  the  three  as  he  spoke,  and  held  the 
bud  separately  while  looking  at  his  companion  wist- 
fully. 

''  No,  we  are  not  poetical,  like  your  people,  but  it  is 
a  pretty  fancy,"  and  Amy  settled  her  bouquet  with  an 
absorbed  expression,  though  inwardly  wondering  what 
he  would  do  with  his  flowers. 

He  stood  silent  a  moment,  with  a  sudden  flush  sweep- 
ing across  his  face,  then  flung  all  three  into  the  lake 
with  a  gesture  that  made  the  girl  start,  and  muttered 
between  his  teeth. 

"  No,  no  ;  for  me  it  is  too  late." 

She  affected  not  to  hear,  but  making  up  a  second 
bouquet,  she  gave  it  to  him,  with  no  touch  of  coquetry 
in  compassionate  ej'es  or  gentle  voice. 

"  Make  your  room  bright  with  these.  When  one  is 
ill  nothing  is  so  cheering  as  the  sight  of  flowers." 

Meantime  the  others  had  descended  and  gone  their 
separate  ways. 

As  Karl  crossed  the  courtyard  a  little  child  ran  to 
meet  him  with  outstretched  arms  and  a  shout  of  satis- 
faction. He  caught  it  up  and  carried  it  awaj^  on  his 
shoulder,  like  one  used  to  caress  and  be  caressed  by 
children. 

Helen,  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  tower  while  the 
major  dusted  his  coat,  saw  this,  and  said,  suddcnlj^, 
directing  his  attention  to  man  and  child,  — 

"  He  seems  fond  of  little  people.  I  wonder  if  he  has 
any  of  his  own." 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  213 

"  Hoffman  ?  No,  my  dear ;  he 's  not  married ;  I  asked 
him  that  when  I  engaged  him." 

"  And  he  said  he  was  not?  " 

"Yes;  he's  not  more  than  five  or  six-and- twenty, 
and  fond  of  a  wandering  hfe,  so  what  should  he  want  of 
a  wife  and  a  flock  of  banthngs  ?  " 

''  He  seems  sad  and  sober  sometimes,  and  I  fancied 
he  might  have  some  domestic  trouble  to  harass  him. 
Don't  you  think  there  is  something  peculiar  about  him  ?  " 
asked  Helen,  remembering  Hoffman's  hint  that  her 
uncle  knew  his  wish  to  travel  incognito,  and  wondering 
if  he  would  throw  any  light  upon  the  matter.  But  the 
major's  face  was  impenetrable  and  his  answer  unsatis- 
factory. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Every  one  has  some  worry  or 
other,  and  as  for  being  peculiar,  all  foreigners  seem 
more  or  less  so  to  us,  they  are  so  unreserved  and  de- 
monstrative. I  like  Hoffman  more  and  more  ever}^  day, 
and  shall  be  sorry  when  I  part  with  him." 

"  Ludmilla  is  his  sister,  then,  or  he  did  n't  tell  uncle 
the  truth.  It  is  no  concern  of  mine ;  but  I  wish  I 
knew,"  thought  Helen  anxiously,  and  then  wondered 
why  she  should  care. 

A  feeling  of  distrust  had  taken  possession  of  her  and 
she  determined  to  be  on  the  watch,  for  the  unsuspicious 
major  would  be  easily  duped,  and  Helen  trusted  more 
to  her  own  quick  and  keen  eye  than  to  his  experience. 
She  tried  to  show  nothing  of  the  change  in  her  manner ; 
but  Hoffman  perceived  it,  and  bore  it  with  a  proud 
patience  which  often  touched  her  heart,  but  never  altered 
her  purpose. 


214  PROVERB  STORIES. 


VII. 


AT   FAULT. 

Four  weeks  went  by  so  rapidly  that  every  one  re- 
fused to  believe  it  when  the  major  stated  the  fact  at 
the  breakfast-table,  for  all  had  enjoj-ed  themselves  so 
heartily  that  they  had  been  unconscious  of  the  lapse 
of  time. 

"You  are  not  going  away,  uncle?"  cried  Am}^,  with 
a  panic-stricken  look. 

"Next  week,  my  dear;  we  must  be  off,  for  we've 
much  to  do  yet,  and  I  promised  mamma  to  bring  3'ou 
back  by  the  end  of  October." 

''  Never  mind  Paris  and  the  rest  of  it ;  this  is 
pleasanter.     I  'd  rather  stay  here  —  " 

There  Am}^  checked  herself  and  tried  to  hide  her  face 
behind  her  coffee-cup,  for  Casimer  looked  up  in  a  way 
that  made  her  heart  flutter  and  her  cheeks  burn. 

*'  Sorry  for  it.  Amy  ;  but  go  we  must,  so  enjo}^  .your 
last  week  with  all  your  might,  and  come  again  next 
year." 

"  It  will  never  be  again  what  it  is  now,"  sighed  Amy  ; 
and  Casimer  echoed  the  words  "  next  3'ear,"  as  if  sadly 
wondering  if  the  present  year  would  not  be  his  last. 

Helen  rose  silently  and  went  into  the  garden,  for  of 
late  she  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  reading  and  working 
in  the  little  paviUon  which  stood  in  an  angle  of  the  wall, 
overlooking  lake  and  mountains. 

A  seat  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  walk  was  Amy's 
haunt,  for  she  liked  the  sun,  and  within  a  week  or  two 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  215 

something  like  constraint  had  existed  between  the 
cousins.  Each  seemed  happier  apart,  and  each  was 
intent  on  her  own  affairs.  Helen  watched  over  Amj-'s 
health,  but  no  longer  offered  advice  or  asked  confidence. 
She  often  looked  anxious,  and  once  or  twice  urged  the 
major  to  go,  as  if  conscious  of  some  danger. 

But  the  worthy  man  seemed  to  have  been  bewitched 
as  well  as  the  3'oung  folks,  and  was  quite  happ}'  sitting 
by  the  plump,  placid  widow,  or  leisurely  walking  with 
her  to  the  chapel  on  the  hillside. 

All  seemed  waiting  for  something  to  break  up  the 
party,  and  no  one  had  the  courage  to  do  it.  The  ma- 
jor's decision  took  every  one  by  surprise,  and  Am}) 
and  Casimer  looked  as  if  they  had  fallen  from  the 
clouds. 

The  persistency  with  which  the  English  lessons  had 
gone  on  was  amazing,  for  Am}'  usually  tired  of  everj'- 
thing  in  a  day  or  two.  Now,  however,  she  was  a  de- 
voted teacher,  and  her  pupil  did  her  great  credit  by  the 
rapidity  with  which  he  caught  the  language.  It  looked 
like  pleasant  play,  sitting  among  the  roses  daj'  after 
day.  Amy  affecting  to  embroider  while  she  taught,  Casi- 
mer marching  to  and  fro  on  the  wide,  low  wall,  below 
which  la}"  the  lake,  while  he  learned  his  lesson  ;  then 
standing  before  her  to  recite,  or  lounging  on  the  turf  in 
frequent  fits  of  idleness,  both  talking  and  laughing  a 
great  deal,  and  generally  forgetting  everything  but  the 
pleasure  of  being  together.  They  wrote  little  notes  as 
exercises — Amy  in  French,  Casimer  in  English,  and 
each  corrected  the  other's. 

All  very  well  for  a  time ;  but  as  the  notes  increased 
the  corrections  decreased,  and  at  last  nothing  was  said 


216  PROVERB  STORIES. 

of  nngrammatical  French  or  comical  English,  and  the 
little  notes  were  exchanged  in  silence. 

As  Amy  took  her  place  that  day  she  looked  forlorn, 
and  when  her  pupil  came  her  only  welcome  was  a  re- 
proachful — 

"  You  are  verj'  late,  sir." 

"  It  is  fifteen  of  minutes  yet  to  ten  clocks,"  was  Casi- 
mer's  repl}',  in  his  best  English. 

"Ten  o'clock,  and  leave  out  'of  before  minutes. 
How  many  times  must  I  tell  you  that?"  said  Am}', 
severely,  to  cover  her  first  mistake. 

"  Ah,  not  many  times  ;  soon  all  goes  to  finish,  and  I 
have  none  person  to  make  this  charming  English  go  in 
m}'  so  stupide  head." 

"  What  will  you  do  then?" 

"  1  Jeter  myself  into  the  lake." 

"  Don't  be  foolish  ;  I  'm  dull  to-day,  and  want  to  be 
cheered  up  ;  suicide  is  n't  a  pleasant  subject." 

' '  Good  !  See  here,  then  —  a  little  plaisanterie  —  what 
jou  call  joke.  Can  you  will  to  see  it?"  and  he  laid  a 
little  pink  cocked-hat  note  on  her  lap,  looking  like  a 
mischievous  boy  as  he  did  so. 

' '  '  Mon  Casimer  Teblinski ; '  I  see  no  joke  ;  "  and 
Amy  was  about  to  tear  it  up,  when  he  caught  it  from 
destruction,  and  holding  it  out  of  reach,  said,  laughing 
wickedly,  — 

"The  'mon'  is  one  abbreviation  of  'monsieur,'  but 
you  put  no  little  —  how  do  you  sa}'  ?  —  period  at  the 
end  of  him  ;  it  goes  now  in  English  —  '  My  Casi- 
mer Teblinski,'  and  that  is  of  the  most  charming  ad* 
dress." 

Amy  colored,  but  had  her  return  shot  ready. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  217 

"  Don't  exult ;  that  was  only  an  oversight,  not  a 
deliberate  deception  like  that  3'ou  put  upon  me.  It  was 
very  wrong  and  rude,  and  I  shall  not  forgive  it." 

' '  Mon  Dieu !  where  have  I  gone  in  sinning  ?  I  am 
a  'polisson^  as  I  say  each  day,  but  not  a  villain,  I  swear 
to  you.  Say  to  me  that  which  I  have  made  of  wrong, 
and  I  will  do  penance." 

"  You  told  me  '  Ma  drogha  '  was  the  Polish  for  '  My 
pupil,'  and  let  me  call  you  so  a  long  time  ;  I  am  wiser 
now,"  replied  Amy,  with  great  dignity. 

"  Who  has  said  stupidities  to  yon^  that  you  doubt 
me?  "  and  Casimer  assumed  an  injured  look,  though  his 
ej-es  danced  with  merriment. 

"  I  heard  Hoffman  singing  a  Polish  song  to  little 
Roserl,  the  burden  of  which  was,  '  Ma  drogha,  Ma  drogha,' 
and  when  I  asked  him  to  translate  it,  those  two  words 
meant,  '  My  darling.'  How  dare  you  do  it,  ungrateful 
creature  that  you  are  !  " 

As  Amy  spoke,  half-confusedly,  half-angrily,  Casimer 
went  down  upon  his  knees,  with  folded  hands  and  peni- 
tent face,  exclaiming,  in  good  English,  — 

"  Be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.  I  was  tempted,  and  I 
could  not  resist." 

"  Get  up  this  instant,  and  stop  laughing.  Say  your 
lesson,  for  this  will  be  3^our  last,"  was  the  stern  reply, 
though  Amy's  face  dimpled  all  over  with  suppressed 
merriment. 

He  rose  meekly,  but  made  such  sad  work  with  the 
verb  "  To  love,"  that  his  teacher  was  glad  to  put  an  end 
to  it,  by  proposing  to  read  her  French  to  him.  It  was 
"  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,"  a  musty  little  translation  which 
she  had  found  in  the  house,  and  begun  for  her  own 


218  PROVERB   STORIES. 

amusement.  Casimer  read  a  little,  seemed  interested, 
and  suggested  that  they  read  it  together,  so  that  he 
might  correct  her  accent.  Amy  agreed,  and  thej'  were 
in  the  heart  of  the  sentimental  romance,  finding  it  more 
interesting  than  most  modern  readers,  for  the  giil  had 
an  improved  Thaddeus  before  her,  and  the  Pole  a  fair(!r, 
kinder  Mary  Beaufort. 

Dangerous  times  for  both,  but  therein  lay  the  charm  ; 
for,  tliough  Amy  said  to  herself  each  night,  "  Sick, 
Catholic,  and  a  foreigner,  —  it  can  never  be,"  yet  each 
morning  she  felt,  with  increasing  force,  how  blank  her 
day  would  be  without  him.  And  Casimer,  honorably 
restraining  every  word  of  love,  yet  looked  volumes,  and 
in  spite  of  the  glasses,  the  girl  felt  the  eloquence  of  the 
fine  eyes  they  could  not  entirety  conceal. 

To-day,  as  she  read,  he  listened  with  his  head  leaning 
on  his  hand,  and  though  she  never  had  read  worse,  he 
made  no  correction,  but  sat  so  motionless,  she  fancied 
at  last  that  he  had  actual!}'  fallen  asleep.  Thinking  to 
rouse  him,  she  said,  in  French,  — 

"  Poor  Thaddeus  !  don't  you  pit}'  him  ?  —  alone,  poor, 
sick,  and  afraid  to  own  his  love." 

"  No,  I  hate  him,  the  absurd  imbecile,  with  his  fine 
boots  and  plumes,  and  tragedy  airs.  lie  was  not  to  bo 
pitied,  for  he  recovered  health,  he  found  a  fortune,  ho 
won  his  Marie.  His  sutferings  w^ere  nothing  ;  there  was 
no  fatal  blight  on  him,  and  he  had  time  and  power  to 
conquer  his  misfortunes,  while  I  —  " 

Casimer  spoke  with  sudden  passion,  and  pausing  ab- 
ruptly, turned  his  face  awa}',  as  if  to  hide  some  emotion 
he  was  too  proud  to  show. 

Amy's  heart  ached,  and  lier  eyes  filled,  but  her  voice 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  219 

was  sweet  and  stead}',  as  she  said,  putting  b}^  the  book, 
like  one  weary  of  it,  — 

''  Are  you  suffering  to-day?  Can  we  do  anything  for 
you?     Please  let  us,  if  we  ma}-." 

''  You  give  me  all  I  can  receive ;  no  one  can  help  m}' 
pain  3'et ;  but  a  time  will  come  when  something  may  be 
done  for  me  ;  then  I  will  speak." 

And,  to  her  great  surprise,  he  rose  and  left  her,  with- 
out another  word. 

She  saw  him  no  more  till  evening ;  then  he  looked 
excited,  pla3'ed  stormil}-,  and  would  sing  in  defiance  of 
danger.  The  troul^le  in  Amy's  face  seemed  reflected  in 
Helen's,  though  not  a  word  had  passed  between  them. 
She  kept  her  e3'e  on  Casimer,  with  an  intentness  that 
worried  Amy,  and  even  when  he  was  at  the  Instrument 
Helen  stood  near  him,  as  if  fascinated,  watching  the 
slender  hands  chase  one  another  up  and  down  the  kej^s 
with  untiring  strength  and  skill. 

Suddenly  she  left  the  room  and  did  not  return.  Amy 
was  so  nervous  b}-  that  time,  she  could  restrain  herself 
no  longer,  and  slipping  out,  found  her  cousin  in  their 
chamber,  poring  over  a  glove. 

"  Oh,  Nell,  what  is  it?  You  are  so  odd  to-night  I 
can't  understand  3-ou.  The  music  excites  me,  and  I'm 
miserable,  and  I  want  to  know  what  has  happened,"  she 
said,  tearfull3-. 

"I've  found  him !  "  whispered  Helen,  eagerly,  hold- 
ing  up  the  glove  with  a  gesture  of  triumph. 

"  Who?  "  asked  Amy,  bhnded  by  her  tears. 

"  The  baron." 

"  Where  ?  —  w^hen  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  amazed. 

"  Here,  and  now." 


220  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"Don't  take  my  breath  awaj^ ;  tell  me  quick,  or  I 
shall  get  hj'sterical." 

"  Casimcr  is  Sigismund  Palsdorf,  and  no  more  a  Pole 
than  I  am,"  was  Helen's  answer. 

Am}"  dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  not  fainting,  but 
so  amazed  she  had  neither  strength  nor  breath  left. 
Sitting  by  her,  Helen  rapidl}^  went  on,  — 

"  I  had  a  feeling  as  if  something  was  wi'ong,  and 
began  to  watch.  The  feeling  grew,  but  I  discovered 
nothing  till  to-da3\  It  will  make  3'ou  laugh,  it  was  so 
unromantic.  As  I  looked  over  uncle's  things  when  the 
laundress  brought  them  this  afternoon,  I  found  a  collar 
that  was  not  his.  It  was  marked  '  S.  P.,'  and  I  at  once 
felt  a  great  desire  to  know  who  owned  it.  The  woman 
was  waiting  for  her  mone}",  and  I  asked  her.  '  Mon- 
sieur Pologne,'  she  said,  for  his  name  is  too  much  for 
her.  She  took  it  into  his  room,  and  that  was  the  end 
of  it." 

"  But  it  may  be  another  name  ;  the  initials  only  a 
coincidence,"  faltered  Am}',  looking  frightened. 

"  No,  dear,  it  is  n't ;  there  is  more  to  come.  Little 
Roserl  came  crying  through  tlie  hall  an  hour  ago,  and  I 
asked  what  the  trouble  was.  She  showed  me  a  prettily- 
bound  prayer-book  which  she  had  taken  from  the  Pole's 
room  to  play  with,  and  had  been  ordered  by  her  mother 
to  carry  back.  I  looked  into  it ;  no  name,  but  the 
same  coat-of-arms  as  the  glove  and  the  handkerchief. 
To-night  as  he  played  I  examined  his  hands  ;  they  are 
peculiar,  and  some  of  the  peculiarities  have  left  traces 
on  the  glove.  I  am  sure  it  is  he,  for  on  looking  back 
many  things  confirm  the  idea.  He  says  he  is  a  poUsson, 
a  rogue,  fond  of  jokes,  and  clever  at  pla}ing  them.     The 


rilE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  221 

Germans  are  famous  for  masquerading  and  practical 
jokes  ;  this  is  one,  I  am  sure,  and  uncle  will  be  terribly 
angr}"  if  he  discovers  it." 

^'  But  wh}^  all  this  concealment?  "  cried  Amy.  "  Why 
pla}^  jokes  on  us?  You  look  so  worried  I  know  you 
have  not  told  me  all  you  know  or  fear." 

"  I  confess  I  do  fear  that  these  men  are  political 
plotters  as  well  as  exiles.  There  are  many  such,  and 
they  make  tools  of  rich  and  ignorant  foreigners  to  fur- 
ther theii'  ends.  Uncle  is  rich,  generous,  and  unsus- 
picious ;  and  I  fear  that  while  apparentl^^  serving  and 
enjoying  us  they  are  using  him." 

"  Heavens,  it  may  be!  and  that  would  account  for 
the  change  we  see  in  him.  I  thought  he  was  in  love 
with  the  widow,  but  that  may  be  only  a  cloak  to  hide 
darker  designs.  Karl  brought  us  here,  and  I  dare  say 
it  is  a  den  of  conspirators !  "  cried  Am}',  feeling  as  if 
she  were  getting  more  of  an  adventure  than  she  had 
bargained  for. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed !  I  am  on  the  watch,  and  mean 
to  demand  an  explanation  from  uncle,  or  take  you  awa\' 
on  my  own  responsibilit}^,  if  I  can." 

Here  a  maid  tapped  to  saj^  that  tea  was  served. 

*'  We  must  go  down,  or  some  one  will  suspect  trouble. 
Plead  headache  to  excuse  your  paleness,  and  I  '11  keep 
people  away.  We  will  manage  the  affair  and  be  off  as 
soon  as  possible,"  said  Helen,  as  Amy  followed  her, 
too  bewildered  to  answer. 

Casimer  was  not  in  the  room,  the  major  and  Mrs. 
Cumberland  were  sipping  tea  side  by  side,  and  the  pro- 
fessors roaming  vaguely  about.  To  leave  Amy  in  peace, 
Helen  engaged  them  both  in  a  livel}^  chat,   and  her 


222  PROVERB   STORIES. 

cousin  sat  b}^  the  window  tiying  to  collect  her  thoughts. 
Some  one  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  garden,  hatless, 
in  the  dew. 

Amy  forgot  ever3'thing  but  the  danger  of  such  ex- 
posure to  her  reckless  friend.  His  cloak  and  hat  lay  on 
a  chair ;  she  caught  them  up  and  glided  unperceived 
from  the  long  window. 

"You  are  so  imprudent  I  fear  for  you,  and  bring 
3^our  things,"  said  a  timid  voice,  as  the  little  white 
figure  approached  the  tall  black  one,  striding  down  the 
path  tempestuousl3\ 

"You  to  think  of  me,  forgetful  of  yourself!  Little 
angel  of  kindness,  why  do  you  take  such  care  of  me?" 
cried  Casimer,  eagerly  taking  not  only  the  cloak,  but 
the  hands  that  held  it. 

"  I  pitied  3'ou  because  jou.  were  ill  and  loneh*.  You 
do  not  deserve  my  pity,  but  I  forgive  that,  and  would 
not  see  you  suffer,"  was  the  reproachful  answer,  as  Amy 
turned  away. 

But  he  held  her  fast,  saying  earnestly,  — 

"  What  have  I  done?  You  are  angry.  Tell  me  my 
fault  and  I  will  amend." 

"  You  have  deceived  me." 

"How?" 

"  Will  you  own  the  truth?  "  and  in  her  eagerness  to 
set  her  fears  at  rest.  Amy  forgot  Helen. 

"  I  will." 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his  voice  was  steadj^ 
and  his  manner  earnest. 

"Tell  me,  then,  is  not  j^our  true  name  Sigismund 
Palsdorf  ?  " 

He  started,  but  answered  instantlj^  — 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  223 

^'  It  is  not." 

"  You  arc  not  the  baron?"  cried  Amy. 

"  No ;  I  will  swear  it  if  you  wish." 

"Who,  then,  are  you?" 

"Shall  I  confess?" 

"  Yes,  I  entreat  you." 

"  Remember,  3'ou  command  me  to  speak." 

"I  do.     Who  are  you?" 

"  Your  lover." 

The  words  were  breathed  into  her  ear  as  softly  as 
ardentl}',  but  they  startled  her  so  much  she  could  find 
no  reply,  and,  throwing  himself  down  before  her,  Casi- 
mer  poured  out  his  passion  with  an  impetuosity  that 
held  her  breathless. 

"  Yes,  I  love  you,  and  I  tell  it,  vain  and  dishonorable 
as  it  is  in  one  like  me.  I  try  to  hide  it.  I  say  '  it  can- 
not be.'  I  plan  to  go  awa}-.  But  you  keep  me ;  you 
are  angel-good  to  me  ;  you  take  my  heart,  you  care  for 
me,  teach  me,  pity  me,  and  I  can  only  love  and  die. 
I  know  it  is  folly ;  I  ask  nothing ;  I  pray  to  God  to 
bless  3  ou  alwa3's,  and  I  sa3%  Go,  go,  before  it  is  too  late 
for  3'ou,  as  now  for  me  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  go  —  it  is  all  wrong.  Forgive  me.  I 
have  been  very  selfish.  Oh,  forget  me  and  be  happ3^" 
faltered  Amy,  feeling  that  her  only  safety  was  in  flight. 

"  Go  !  go  ! "  he  cried,  in  a  heart-broken  tone,  yet  still 
kissed  and  clung  to  her  hands  till  she  tore  them  away 
and  fled  into  the  house. 

Helen  missed  her  soon  after  she  went,  but  could  not 
follow  for  several  minutes  ;  then  went  to  their  chamber 
and  there  found  Am3^  drowned  in  tears,  and  terribly 
aaitated. 


224  PROVERB  STORIES. 

Soon  the  stor}'  was  told  with  sobs  and  moans,  and 
despairing  lamentations  fit  to  touch  a  heart  of  stone. 

"I  do  love  him —  oh,  I  do  ;  but  I  did  n't  know  it  till 
he  was  so  unhappy,  and  now  I  've  done  this  dreadful 
harm.  He'll  die,  and  I  can't  help  him,  see  him,  or  be 
anything  to  him.  Oh,  I  've  been  a  wicked,  wicked  girl, 
and  never  can  be  happy  any  more." 

Angry,  perplexed,  and  conscience-stricken,  for  what 
now  seemed  blind  and  unwise  submission  to  the  major, 
Helen  devoted  herself  to  calming  Am}',  and  when  at 
last  the  poor,  broken-hearted  little  soul  fell  asleep  in  her 
arms,  she  pondered  half  the  night  upon  the  still  un- 
solved enigma  of  the  Baron  Sigismund. 


VIII. 


MORE    arYSTEKY. 

'*  Uncle,  can  I  speak  to  you  a  moment?"  said  Helen, 
very  gravel}^  as  they  left  the  breakfast-room  next  morn- 
ing. 

''  Not  now,  my  dear,  I  'm  bus}^"  was  the  hasty  reply, 
as  the  major  shawled  Mrs.  Cumberland  for  an  early 
promenade. 

Helen  knit  her  brows  irefully,  for  this  answer  had 
been  given  her  half  a  dozen  times  latel}^  when  she  asked 
for  an  interview.  It  was  evident  he  wished  to  avoid  all 
lectures,  remonstrances,  and  explanations  ;  and  it  was 
also  evident  that  he  was  in  love  with  the  widow. 

*'  Lovers  are  worse  than  lunatics  to  manage,  so  it  is 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  225 

vain  to  try  to  get  any  help  from  him,"  sighed  Helen, 
adding,  as  her  uncle  was  gallantl}'  leading  his  stout 
divinitj'  away  into  the  garden  :  "  Amy  has  a  bad  head- 
ache, and  I  shall  stay  to  take  care  of  her,  so  we  can't  join 
your  party  to  Chillon,  sir.  We  have  been  there  once, 
so  3'ou  need  n't  postpone  it  for  us." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  and  the  major  walked  away, 
looking  much  relieved. 

As  Helen  was  about  to  leave  the  salon  Casimer  ap- 
peared. A  single  glance  at  her  face  assured  him  that 
she  knew  all,  and  instantly  assuming  a  confiding,  per- 
suasive air  that  was  irresistible,  he  said,  meekl3',  — 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  do  not  deserve  a  word  from  you, 
but  it  desolates  me  to  know  that  I  have  grieved  the  little 
angel  who  is  too  dear  to  me.  For  her  sake,  pardon  that 
I  spoke  m}^  heart  in  spite  of  prudence,  and  permit  me  to 
send  her  this." 

Helen  glanced  from  the  flowers  he  held  to  his  beseech- 
ing face,  and  her  own  softened.  He  looked  so  peni- 
tent and  anxious,  she  had  not  the  heart  to  reproach 
him. 

^'  I  will  forgive  yow  and  carry  3'our  gift  to  Amy  on 
one  condition,"  she  said,  gravely. 

"Ah,  3^ou  are  kind!  Name,  then,  the  condition,  I 
implore  you,  and  I  will  agree." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  on  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  are 
you  not  Baron  Palsdorf  ?  " 

"  On  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  swear  to  you  I  am 
not." 

"  Are  3'OU,  in  truth,  what  you  profess  to  be?  " 

"I  am,  in  truth,  Amy's  lover,  your  devoted  servant, 
and  a  most  unhappy  man,  with  but  a  little  while  to 


226  PROVERB  STORIES. 

live.  Believe  this  and  pity  me,  dearest  Mademoiselle 
Helene." 

She  did  pity  him,  her  eyes  betrayed  that,  and  her 
voice  was  very  kind,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Pardon  my  doubts.  I  trust  3'ou  now,  and  wish 
with  all  my  heart  that  it  was  possible  to  make  you  happj'. 
You  know  it  is  not,  therefore  I  am  sure  you  will  be  wise 
and  generous,  and  spare  Am}''  further  grief  hy  avoiding 
her  for  the  little  time  we  sta}^  Promise  me  this,  Casi- 
mer." 

"  I  ma}^  see  her  if  I  am  dumb  ?  Do  not  den}^  me  this. 
I  will  not  speak,  but  I  must  look  at  my  little  and  dear 
angel  when  she  is  near." 

He  pleaded  so  ardently  with  lips  and  hands,  and 
eager  e^'es,  that  Helen  could  not  deny  him,  and  when 
he  had  poured  out  his  thanks  she  left  him,  feeling  very 
tender  toward  the  unhapp}^  3'oung  lover,  whose  passion 
was  so  hopeless,  yet  so  warm. 

Amy  was  at  breakfast  in  her  room,  sobbing  and  sip- 
ping, moaning  and  munching,  for,  though  her  grief  was 
great,  her  appetite  was  good,  and  she  was  in  no  mood 
to  see  an3'thing  comical  in  cracking  eggshells  while  she 
bewailed  her  broken  heart,  or  in  eating  houc^'  in  the  act 
of  lamenting  the  bitterness  of  her  fate. 

Casimer  would  have  become  desperate  had  he  seen 
her  in  the  little  blue  wrapper,  with  her  bright  hair  loose 
on  her  shoulders,  and  her  pretty  face  wet  with  tears,  as 
she  dropped  her  spoon  to  seize  his  flowers,  — three  dewy 
roses,  one  a  bud,  one  half  and  the  other  full}'  blown, 
making  a  fragrant  record  and  avowal  of  the  love  which 
she  must  renounce. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy !  how  can  1  give  him  up,  when  he 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  227 

is  so  fond,  and  I  am  all  lie  has?  Helen,  uncle  must 
let  rae  write  or  go  to  mamma.  She  shall  decide  ;  I  can't ; 
and  no  one  else  has  a  right  to  part  us,"  sobbed  Am}', 
over  her  roses. 

"  Casimer  will  not  marry,  dear ;  he  is  too  generous  to 
ask  such  a  sacrifice,"  began  Helen,  but  Amj^  cried  in- 
dignantly, — '• 

"It  is  no  sacrifice  ;  I  'm  rich.  What  do  I  care  for 
his  poverty?" 

"  His  religion  !  "  hinted  Helen,  anxiousty. 

"  It  need  not  part  us ;  we  can  believe  what  we  will. 
He  is  good  ;  why  mind  whether  he  is  Catholic  or  Protes- 
tant." 

"  But  a  Pole,  Amy,  so  different  in  tastes,  habits, 
character,  and  beliefs.  It  is  a  great  risk  to  marry  a 
foreigner ;  races  are  so  unlike." 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  is  a  Tartar,  a  Calmuck,  or  any  of 
the  other  wild  tribes ;  I  love  him,  he  loves  me,  and  no 
one  need  object  if  I  don't." 

"  But,  dear,  the  great  and  sad  objection  still  remains  — 
his  health.    He  just  said  he  had  but  a  little  while  to  live." 

Amy's  angry  eyes  grew  dim,  but  she  answered,  with 
soft  earnestness,  — 

"  So  much  the  more  need  of  me  to  make  that  little 
while  happy.  Think  how  much  he  has  suffered  and  done 
for  others ;  surel}'  I  may  do  something  for  him.  Oh, 
Nell,  can  I  let  him  die  alone  and  in  exile,  when  I  have 
both  heart  and  home  to  give  him  ?  " 

Helen  could  say  no  more  ;  she  kissed  and  comforted 
the  faithful  little  soul,  feeling  all  the  while  such  S3'mpa- 
thy  and  tenderness  that  she  wondered  at  herself,  for  with 
this  interest  in  the  love  of  another  came  a  sad  sense  of 


228  PROVERB   STORIES. 

loneliness,  as  if  she  was  denied  the  sweet  experience 
that  every  woman  longs  to  know. 

Amy  never  conld  remain  long  under  a  cloud,  and  see- 
ing Helen's  tears,  began  to  cheer  both  her  cousin  and 
herself. 

"  Hoffman  said  he  might  live  with  care,  don't  3'ou 
remember?  and  Hoffman  knows  the  case  better  than  we. 
Let  us  ask  him  if  Casimer  is  worse.  You  do  it ;  I  can't 
without  betraying  m^'self." 

"  I  will,"  and  Helen  felt  grateful  for  any  pretext  to 
address  a  friendl}^  word  to  Karl,  who  had  looked  sad  of 
late,  and  had  been  less  with  them  since  the  major  be- 
came absorbed  in  Mrs.  Cumberland. 

Leaving  Am}^  to  compose  herself,  Helen  went  awaj' 
to  find  Hoffman.  It  was  never  difficult,  for  he  seemed 
to  divine  her  wishes  and  appear  uncalled  the  moment  he 
was  wanted.  Hardly  had  she  reached  her  favorite  nook 
in  the  garden  when  he  approached  with  letters,  and 
asked  with  respectful  anxiet}^,  as  she  glanced  at  and 
threw  them  by  with  an  impatient  sigh,  — 

"Has  mademoiselle  anj-  orders?  Will  the  ladies 
drive,  sail,  or  make  a  little  expedition?  It  is  fine,  and 
mademoiselle  looks  as  if  the  air  would  refresh  her. 
Pardon  that  I  make  the  suggestion." 

"  No,  Hoffman,  I  don't  like  the  air  of  this  place,  and 
intend  to  leave  as  soon  as  possible."  And  Helen  knit 
her  delicate  dark  brows  with  an  expression  of  great 
determination.  "  Switzerland  is  the  refuge  of  political 
exiles,  and  I  hate  plots  and  disguises  ;  I  feel  oppressed 
by  some  m3^ster3^,  and  mean  to  solve  or  break  away  from 
it  at  once." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  longing  to  ask  his  help,  yd 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES  229 

withheld  b}^  a  sudden  sense  of  shj^ness  in  approaching 
the  subject,  though  she  had  decided  to  speak  to  Karl  of 
the  Pole. 

"  Can  I  serve  3'ou,  mademoiselle?  If  so,  pray  com- 
mand me,"  he  said,  eagerly,  coming  a  step  nearer. 

"  You  can,  and  I  intend  to  ask  your  advice,  for  there 
can  be  nothing  amiss  in  doing  so,  since  you  are  a  friend 
of  Casimer's." 

"  I  am  both  friend  and  confidant,  mademoiselle,"  he 
answered,  as  if  anxious  to  let  her  understand  that  he 
knew  all,  without  the  embarrassment  of  words.  She 
looked  up  quickly,  relieved,  yet  troubled. 

"  He  has  told  you,  then?" 

"  Everything,  mademoiselle.  Pardon  me  if  this 
afflicts  you  ;  I  am  his  only  friend  here,  and  the  poor 
lad  sorel}^  needed  comfort." 

"  He  did.  I  am  not  annoyed  ;  I  am  glad,  for  I  know 
you  will  sustain  him.  Now  I  may  speak  freely,  and  be 
equally  frank.    Please  tell  me  if  he  is  indeed  fatally  ill  ?  " 

"  It  was  thought  so  some  months  ago ;  now  I  hope. 
Happiness  cures  many  ills,  and  since  he  has  loved,  he 
has  improved.  I  always  thought  care  would  save  him  ; 
he  is  worth  it." 

Hoflman  paused,  as  if  fearful  of  venturing  too  far ; 
but  Helen  seemed  to  confide  freely  in  him,  and  said, 
softlj^  — 

'*Ah,  if  it  were  only  wise  to  let  him  be  happy.  It  is 
so  bitter  to  deny  love." 

"  God  knows  it  is  !  " 

The  exclamation  broke  from  Hofl^man  as  if  an  irre- 
pressible impulse  wrung  it  from  him. 

Helen  started,  and  for  a  moment  neither  spoke.    She 


230  PROVERB  STORIES. 

collected  herself  soonest,  and  without  turning,  said, 
quietly,  — 

"  I  have  been  troubled  by  a  strong  impression  that 
Casimer  is  not  what  he  seems.  Till  he  denied  it  on  his 
honor  I  believed  him  to  be  Baron  Palsdorf.  Did  he 
speak  the  truth  when  he  said  he  was  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  Then,  Casimer  Teblinski  is  his  real  name?" 

No  answer. 

She  turned  sharply,  and  added,  — 

"For  my  cousin's  sake,  I  must  know  the  truth. 
Several  curious  coincidences  make  me  strongl}'  suspect 
that  he  is  passing  under  an  assumed  name." 

Not  a  word  said  Hoffman,  but  looked  on  the  ground. 
as  motionless  and  expressionless  as  a  statue. 

Helen  lost  patience,  and  in  order  to  show  how  much 
she  had  discovered,  rapidly  told  the  stor}'  of  the  gloves, 
ring,  handkerchief,  prayer-book  and  collar,  omitting  all 
hint  of  the  girlish  romance  the}^  had  woven  about  these 
things. 

As  she  ended,  Hoffman  looked  up  with  a  curious  ex- 
pression, in  which  confusion,  amusement,  admiration 
and  annoyance  seemed  to  contend. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  gravely,  "I  am  about 
to  prove  to  you  that  I  feel  honored  by  the  confidence 
you  place  in  me.  I  cannot  break  m}^  word,  but  I  will 
confess  to  you  that  Casimer  does  not  bear  his  own 
name." 

"  I  knew  it !  "  said  Helen,  with  a  flash  of  triumph  in 
her  ej^es.  "  He  is  the  baron,  and  no  Pole.  You  Ger- 
mans love  masquerades  and  jokes.  This  is  one,  but  I 
must  spoil  it  before  it  is  plaj'cd  out." 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  231 

*'  Pardon  ;  mademoiselle  is  keen,  but  in  this  she  is 
mistaken.  Casimer  is  7iot  the  baron  ;  he  did  fight  for 
Poland,  and  his  name  is  known  and  honored  there.  Of 
this  I  solemnly  assure  3'ou." 

She  stood  up  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 
He  met  her  e^e  to  eye,  and  never  wavered  till  her  own 
fell. 

She  mused  a  few  minutes,  entirelj'  forgetful  of  her- 
self in  her  eagerness  to  solve  the  myster}-. 

Hoffman  stood  so  near  that  her  dress  touched  him, 
and  the  wind  blew  her  scarf  against  his  hand  ;  and  as 
she  thought  he  watched  her  while  his  eyes  knidled,  his 
color  rose,  and  once  he  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but 
she  moved  at  the  instant,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"I  have  it!  " 

"  Now  for  it,"  he  muttered,  as  if  preparing  for  some 
new  surprise  or  attack. 

"  When  uncle  used  to  talk  about  the  Polish  revolu- 
tion, there  was,  I  remember  a  gallant  young  Pole  who 
did  something  brave.  The  name  just  flashed  on  me,  and 
it  clears  up  my  doubts.  Stanislas  Prakora  —  '  S.  P.'  — 
and  Casimer  is  the  man." 

Helen  spoke  with  an  eager,  bright  face,  as  if  snre  of 
the  truth  now ;  but,  to  her  surprise,  Hoffman  laughed, 
a  short,  irrepressible  laugh,  full  of  hearty  but  brief 
merriment.  He  sobered  in  a  breath,  and  with  an  entire 
change  of  countenance  said,  in  an  embarrassed  tone,  — 

"  Pardon  m}^  rudeness ;  mademoiselle's  acuteness 
threw  me  off  my  guard.  I  can  say  nothing  till  released 
from  my  promise  ;  but  mademoiselle  may  rest  assured 
that  Casimer  Teblinski  is  as  good  and  brave  a  man  as 
Stanislas  Prakora." 


232  PROVERB   STORIES. 

Helen's  eyes  sparkled,  for  in  this  reluctant  reph^  she 
read  confirmation  of  her  suspicion,  and  thought  that 
Amy  would  rejoice  to  learn  that  her  lover  was  a  hero. 

"You  are  exiles  but,  still  hope  and  plot,  and  never 
relinquish  your  heart's  desire  ?  " 

*'  Never,  mademoiselle  !  " 

"  You  are  in  danger?  " 

"  In  daily  peril  of  losing  all  we  most  love  and  long 
for,"  answered  Karl,  with  such  passion  that  Helen  found 
patriotism  a  lovely  and  inspiring  thing. 

"You  have  enemies?"  she  asked,  unable  to  control 
her  interest,  and  feeling  the  charm  of  these  confidences. 

"  Alas  !  yes,"  was  the  mournful  replj',  as  Karl  dropped 
his  eyes  to  hide  the  curious  expression  of  mirth  which 
he  could  not  banish  from  them. 

"  Can  you  not  conquer  them,  or  escape  the  danger 
they  place  yon  in  ?  " 

"  We  hope  to  conquer,  we  cannot  escape." 

"  This  accounts  for  ^^our  disguise  and  Casimer's  false 
name  ?  " 

"  Yes.  We  beg  that  mademoiselle  will  pardon  us 
the  anxiety  and  perplexity  we  have  caused  her,  and 
hope  that  a  time  will  soon  arrive  when  we  may  be  our- 
selves. I  fear  the  romantic  interest  with  which  the 
ladies  have  honored  us  will  be  much  lessened,  but  we 
shall  still  remain  their  most  humble  and  devoted  ser- 
vants." 

Something  in  his  tone  nettled  Helen,  and  she  said 
sharply,  — 

"All  this  maybe  amusing  to  you,  but  It  spoils  my 
confidence  in  others  to  know  they  wear  masks.  Is  your 
name  also  false  ?  " 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  233 

*'I  am  Karl  Hoffman,  as  surely  as  the  sun  shines, 
mademoiselle.  Do  not  wound  me  by  a  doubt,"  he  said, 
eagerly. 

"  And  nothing  more?" 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  glanced  at  his  darkened 
skin  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  I  dare  not  answer  that." 

"  No  matter  ;  I  hate  titles,  and  value  people  for  their 
own  worth,  not  for  their  rank." 

Helen  spoke  impulsively,  and,  as  if  carried  aw  a}'  by 
her  words  and  manner,  Hoffman  caught  her  hand  and 
pressed  his  lips  to  it  ardently,  dropped  it,  and  was 
gone,  as  if  fearing  to  trust  himself  a  moment  longer. 

Helen  stood  where  he  left  her,  thinking,  with  a  shy 
glance  from  her  hand  to  the  spot  where  he  had  stood, — 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  have  one's  hand  kissed,  as  Am}' 
said.  Poor  Karl,  his  fate  is  almost  as  hard  as  Casi- 
mer's." 

Some  subtile  power  seemed  to  make  the  four  3'oung 
people  shun  one  another  carefully,  though  all  longed  to 
be  together.  The  major  appeared  to  share  the  secret 
disquiet  that  made  the  rest  roam  listlessly  about,  till 
little  Roserl  came  to  invite  them  to  a/e^e  in  honor  of  the 
vintage.  All  were  glad  to  go,  hoping  in  the  novelty  and 
excitement  to  recover  their  composure. 

The  vinej'ard  sloped  up  from  the  chateau,  and  on  the 
hillside  was  a  small  plateau  of  level  sward,  shadowed 
by  a  venerable  oak  now  hung  with  garlands,  while  un- 
derneath danced  the  chateau  servants  with  their  families, 
to  the  music  of  a  pipe  plaj'ed  by  little  Freidel.  As  the 
gentlefolk  approached,  the  revel  stopped,  but  the  major, 
who  was  in  an  antic  mood  and  disposed  to  be  gracious, 


234  PROVERB   STORIES. 

bade  Frcidel  pla}-  on,  and  as  Mrs.  Cnmlierland  refused 
his  hand  with  a  glance  at  her  weeds,  the  major  turned 
to  the  Count's  buxom  housekeeper,  and  besought  her  to 
waltz  with  him.  She  assented,  and  away  the}"  went  as 
nimbly  as  the  best.  Amy  laughed,  but  stopped  to 
blush,  as  Casimer  came  up  with  an  imploring  glance,  and 
whispered,  — 

"Is  it  possible  that  I  may  enjoy  one  divine  waltz 
with  3"ou  before  I  go  ?  " 

Amy  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  glad  assent,  and  Helen 
was  left  alone.  Every  one  was  dancing  but  herself  and 
Hoffman,  who  stood  near  by,  apparently  unconscious  of 
the  fact.  He  glanced  covertly  at  her,  and  saw  that  she 
was  beating  time  with  foot  and  hand,  that  her  e3'GS 
shone,  her  lips  smiled.  He  seemed  to  take  courage  at 
this,  for,  walking  straight  up  to  her,  he  said,  as  coolly 
as  if  a  crown-prince,  — 

"  Mademoiselle,  may  I  have  the  honor?  " 

A  flash  of  surprise  passed  over  her  face,  but  there  was 
no  anger,  pride,  or  hesitation  in  her  manner,  as  she 
leaned  toward  him  with  a  quiet  "  Thanks,  monsieur." 

A  look  of  triumph  was  in  his  eyes  as  he  swept  her 
away  to  dance,  as  she  had  never  danced  before,  for  a 
German  waltz  is  full  of  life  and  spirit,  wonderfuU}^  cap- 
tivating to  English  girls,  and  German  gentlemen  make 
it  a  memorable  experience  when  they  please.  As  they 
circled  round  the  rustic  ball-room,  Hoffman  never  took  his 
eyes  off  Helen's,  and,  as  if  fascinated,  she  looked  up  at 
him,  half  conscious  that  he  was  reading  her  heart  as  she 
read  his.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  his  face  grew  very 
tender,  very  beautiful  in  her  sight,  as  she  forgot  ever}'- 
thing  except  that  he  had  saved  her  life  and  she  loved 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  235 

him.  When  tho}^  paused,  she  was  breathless  and  pale  ; 
he  also  ;  and  seating  her  he  went  awa}'  to  bring  her  a 
glass  of  wine.  As  her  dizz}'  ej'cs  grew  clear. 'she  saw 
a  little  case  at  her  feet,  and  taking  it  up,  opened  it.  A 
worn  paper,  containing  some  faded  forget-me-nots  and 
these  words,  fell  out,  — 

"  Gathered  where  Helen  sat  on  the  night  of  August 
10th." 

There  was  just  time  to  restore  its  contents  to  the  case, 
when  Hoffman  returned,  saw  it,  and  looked  intensely 
anno3^ed  as  he  asked,  quickly,  — 

' '  Did  you  read  the  name  on  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  only  the  flowers  ;  "  and  Helen  colored  beauti- 
full}'  as  she  spoke. 

''  And  read  themV  he  asked,  with  a  look  she  could 
not  meet. 

She  was  spared  an  answer,  for  just  then  a  lad  came 
up,  saying,  as  he  offered  a  note,  — 

"  Monsieur  Hoffman,  madame,  at  the  hotel,  sends 
you  this,  and  begs  3'ou  to  come  at  once." 

As  he  impatiently  opened  it,  the  wind  blew  the  paper 
into  Helen's  lap.  She  restored  it,  and  in  the  act,  her 
quick  e^'e  caught  the  signature,  "  Thine  ever,  Ludmilla." 

A  slight  shadow  passed  over  her  face,  leaving  it  very 
cold  and  quiet.  Hoffman  saw  the  change,  and  smiled, 
as  if  well  pleased,  but  assuming  suddenly"  his  usual 
manner,  said  deferentially,  — 

"  Will  mademoiselle  permit  me  to  visit  my  friend  for 
an  hour?  —  she  is  expecting  me." 

"  Go,  then,  we  do  not  need  you,"  was  the  brief  reply, 
in  a  careless  tone,  as  if  his  absence  was  a  thing  of  no 
interest  to  any  one. 


236  PROVERB  STORIES. 

*'  Thanks  ;  I  shall  not  be  long  away  ;  "  and  giving  her 
a  glance  that  made  her  turn  scarlet  with  anger  at  its 
undisguised  admiration,  he  walked  away,  humming  gayly 
to  himself  Goethe's  lines,  — 

"  Maiden's  heart  and  city's  wall 
Were  made  to  yield,  were  made  to  fall ; 
When  we  've  held  them  each  their  day, 
Soldier-like  we  march  away." 


"  S.    P.      AND   THE    BARON. 

Dinner  was  over,  and  the  salon  deserted  by  all  but 
the  two  young  ladies,  who  sat  apart,  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  novels,  while  each  was  privately  longing  for 
somebody  to  come,  and  with  the  charming  inconsistency 
of  the  fair  sex,  planning  to  fly  if  certain  somebodies  did 
appear. 

Steps  approached ;  both  buried  themselves  in  their 
books  J  both  held  their  breath  and  felt  their  hearts  flut- 
ter as  they  never  had  done  before  at  the  step  of  mortal 
man.  The  door  opened ;  neither  looked  up,  yet  each 
was  conscious  of  mingled  disappointment  and  relief  when 
the  major  said,  in  a  grave  tone,  ''  Girls,  I've  something 
to  tell  you." 

"'  We  know  what  it  is,  sir,"  returned  Helen,  cooll3\ 

"  I  beg  3'our  pardon,  but  you  don't,  my  dear,  as  I 
will  prove  in  Ave  minutes,  if  3'ou  will  give  me  your 
attention." 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.  237 

The  major  looked  as  if  braced  up  to  some  momentous 
undertaking  ;  and  planting  himself  before  the  two  3'oung 
ladies,  dashed  bravely  into  the  subject. 

"  Girls,  I've  played  a  bold  game,  but  I've  won  it, 
and  will  take  the  consequences." 

"  The}^  will  fall  heaviest  on  3'ou,  uncle,"  said  Helen, 
thinking  he  was  about  to  declare  his  love  for  the  widow. 

The  major  laughed,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  an- 
swered, stoutty,  — 

'*  I  '11  bear  them  ;  but  you  are  quite  wrong,  my  dear, 
in  your  surmises,  as  yow  will  soon  see.  Helen  is  my 
ward,  and  accountable  to  me  alone.  Amy's  mother 
gave  her  into  m}^  charge,  and  won't  reproach  me  for 
anything  that  has  passed  when  I  explain  matters.  As 
to  the  lads  they  must  take  care  of  themselves." 

Suddenty  both  girls  colored,  fluttered,  and  became 
intensely  interested.  The  major's  eyes  twinkled  as  he 
assumed  a  perfectly  impassive  expression,  and  rapidly 
delivered  himself  of  the  following  thunderbolt,  — 

"  Girls,  you  have  been  deceived,  and  the  young  men 
you  love  are  impostors." 

''  I  thought  so,"  muttered  Helen,  grimly. 

"  Oh,  uncle,  don't,  don't  say  that ! "  cried  Amy,  de- 
spairingl3\ 

"  It 's  true,  m}^  dears  ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  knew 
the  truth  all  the  time.  Now,  don't  have  h3'sterics,  but 
listen  and  enjoy  the  joke  as  I  do.  At  Coblentz,  when 
you  sat  in  the  balcony,  two  young  men  overheard  Amy 
sigh  for  adventures,  and  Helen  advise  making  a  romance 
out  of  the  gloves  one  of  the  lads  had  dropped.  They 
had  seen  you  by  day ;  both  admired  you,  and  being 
idle,  gay  young  fellows,  they  resolved  to  devote  their 


238  PROVERB   STORIES. 

vacation  to  gratifj'ing  3'our  wishes  and  enjoying  them- 
selves. We  met  at  the  Fortress  ;  I  knew  one  of  them, 
and  liked  the  other  immensel}^ ;  so  when  the^^  confided 
their  scheme  to  me  I  agreed  to  help  them  cany  it  ont, 
as  I  had  perfect  confidence  in  both,  and  thought  a  little 
adventure  or  two  would  do  you  good." 

"  Uncle,  3^ou  were  mad,"  said  Helen  ;  and  Amy  added, 
tragically,  — 

"  You  don't  know  what  trouble  has  come  of  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  ;  that  remains  to  be  proved.  I  do 
know  everything,  and  fail  to  see  any  trouble,  so  don't 
cr^',  little  girl,"  brisklj^  replied  the  inexplicable  major. 
"'  Well,  we  had  a  merry  time  planning  our  prank.  One 
of  the  lads  insisted  on  playing  courier,  though  I  ob- 
jected, lie  'd  done  it  before,  liked  the  part,  and  would 
have  his  way.  The  other  could  n't  decide,  being  j^ounger 
and  more  in  love  ;  so  we  left  him  to  come  into  the 
comedy  when  he  was  ready.  Karl  did  capitallv,  as  you 
will  allow ;  and  I  am  much  attached  to  him,  for  in  all 
respects  he  has  been  true  to  his  word.  He  began  at 
Coblentz  ;  the  other,  after  doing  the  mysterious  at  Hei- 
delberg, appeared  as  an  exile,  and  made  quick  work  with 
the  prejudices  of  m}'  well-beloved  nieces  —  he}^  Amy?" 

''Go  on;  who  are  they?"  cried  both  girls,  breath- 
lessl}^ 

' '  Wait  a  bit ;  I  'm  not  bound  to  expose  the  poor 
fellows  to  3'our  scorn  and  anger.  No  ;  if  3'ou  are  going 
to  be  high  and  haught}',  to  forget  their  love,  refuse  to 
forgive  their  frolic,  and  rend  their  hearts  with  reproaches, 
better  let  them  remain  unknown." 

''No,  no;  we  will  forget  and  forgive,  only  speak!" 
was  the  command  of  both. 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.      *  239 

"  You  promise  to  be  lenient  and  mild,  to  let  them 
confess  their  motives,  and  to  award  a  gentle  penance 
for  their  sins  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  promise  !  " 

"  Then,  come  in,  my  lads,  and  plead  for  yom'  lives." 

As  he  spoke  the  major  threw  open  the  door,  and  two 
gentlemen  entered  the  room  —  one,  slight  and  dark, 
with  brilliant  black  eyes  ;  the  other  tall  and  large,  with 
blond  hair  and  beard.  Angr}",  bewildered,  and  shame- 
stricken  as  they  were,  feminine  curiosity  overpow^ered 
all  other  feelings  for  the  moment,  and  the  girls  sat  look- 
ing at  the  culprits  with  eager  eyes,  full  of  instant  recog- 
nition ;  for  though  the  disguise  was  off,  and  neither  had 
seen  them  in  their  true  characters  but  once,  they  felt 
no  doubt,  and  involuntarily  exclaimed,  — 

"Karl!" 

"  Casimer." 

"No,  young  ladies;  the  courier  and  exile  are  de- 
funct, and  from  their  ashes  rise  Baron  Sigismund  Pals- 
dorf,  m}^  friend,  and  Sidney  Power,  my  nephew.  I  give 
you  one  hour  to  settle  the  matter :  then  I  shall  return 
to  bestow  mj  blessing  or  to  banish  these  scapegraces 
forever." 

And,  having  fired  his  last  shot,  the  major  prudentl}' 
retreated,  without  waiting  to  see  its  effect. 

It  was  tremendous,  for  it  carried  confusion  into  the 
fair  enemj^'s  camp  ;  and  gave  the  besiegers  a  momen- 
tary advantage  of  which  they  were  not  slow  to  avail 
themselves. 

For  a  moment  the  four  remained  mute  and  motion- 
less :  then  Amy,  like  all  timid  things,  took  refuge  in 
flight,  and  Sidney  followed  her  into  the  garden,  glad  to 


240  PROVERB  STORIES. 

see  the  allies  separated.  Helen,  with  the  courage  of 
her  nature,  tried  to  face  and  repulse  the  foe ;  but  love 
was  stronger  than  pride,  maiden  shame  overcame  anger, 
and,  finding  it  vain  to  meet  and  bear  down  the  steady, 
tender  glance  of  the  blue  e^^es  fixed  upon  her,  she 
drooped  her  head  into  her  hands  and  sat  before  him, 
like  one  conquered  but  too  proud  to  cry  "Quarter." 
Her  lover  watched  her  till  she  hid  her  face,  then  drew 
near,  knelt  down  before  her,  and  said,  with  an  under- 
tone of  deep  feeling  below  the  mirthful  malice  of  his 
words,  — 

"•  Mademoiselle,  pardon  me  that  I  am  a  foolish  baron, 
and  dare  to  offer  you  the  title  that  j'ou  hate.  I  have 
served  you  faithfully  for  a  month,  and,  presumptuous  as 
it  is,  I  ask  to  be  allowed  to  serve  you  all  my  life, 
Helen,  say  joii  forgive  the  deceit  for  love's  sake." 

"  No;  you  are  false  and  forsworn.  How  can  I  be- 
lieve that  anything  is  true  ?  " 

And  Helen  drew  away  the  hand  of  which  he  had 
taken  possession. 

"  Heart's  dearest,  3-ou  trusted  me  in  spite  of  my  dis- 
guise ;  trust  me  still,  and  I  will  prove  that  I  am  neither 
false  nor  forsworn.  Catechise  me,  and  see  if  I  was  not 
true  in  spite  of  all  my  seeming  deception." 

"  You  said  your  name  was  Karl  Hoffman,"  began 
Helen,  glad  to  gain  a  little  time  to  calm  herself  before 
the  momentous  question  came. 

"  It  is  ;  I  have  many,  and  my  famil}'  choose  to  call  me 
Sigismund,"  was  the  laughing  answer. 

"  I  '11  never  call  3^ou  so  ;  you  shall  be  Karl,  the  courier, 
all  your  hfe  to  me,"  cried  Helen,  still  unable  to  meet  the 
ardent  eyes  before  her. 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  241 

"  Good ;  I  like  that  well ;  for  it  assures  me  that  all 
m}^  life  I  shall  be  something  to  3'ou,  my  heart.  What 
next?" 

"When  I  asked  if  you  were  the  baron,  you  denied 
it." 

"Pardon!  I  simply  said  my  name  was  Iloffman. 
You  did  not  ask  me  point  blank  if  I  was  the  baron  ;  had 
you  done  so,  I  think  I  should  have  confessed  all,  for  it 
was  \QYy  hard  to  restrain  myself  this  morning." 

"No,  not  3^et ;  I  have  more  questions;"  and  Helen 
warned  him  awaj^,  as  it  became  evident  that  he  no 
longer  considered  restraint  necessary. 

"Who  is  Ludmilla?"  she  said,  sharply. 

"My  faith,  that  is  superb!"  exclaimed  the  baron, 
with  a  triumphant  smile  at  her  betrayal  of  jealous}*. 
"  How  if  she  is  a  former  love?"  he  asked,  with  a  sly 
look  at  her  changing  face. 

"  It  would  cause  me  no  surprise  ;  I  am  prepared  for 
an}' thing." 

"  How  if  she  is  m}^  dearest  sister,  for  whom  I  sent, 
that  she  might  welcome  you  and  bring  the  greetings  of 
m}^  parents  to  their  new  daughter  ?  " 

"  Is  it,  indeed,  so?" 

And  Helen's  eyes  dimmed  as  the  thought  of  parents, 
home  and  love  filled  her  heart  with  tenderest  gratitude, 
for  she  had  long  been  an  orphan. 

"  Zez^c,^e?z,  it  is  true;  to-morrow  you  shall  see  and 
know  how  dear  3'ou  already  are  to  them,  for  I  write 
often  and  they  wait  eagerly  to  receive  3'ou." 

Helen  felt  herself  going  ver}^  fast,  and  made  an  effort 
to  harden  her  heart,  less  too  easy  victory  should  reward 
this  audacious  lover. 

16 


242  PROVERB  STORIES. 

'^  I  may  not  go  ;  I  also  have  friends,  and  in  England 
we  are  not  won  in  this  wild  way.  I  will  3'et  prove  3'ou 
false ;  it  will  console  me  for  being  so  duped  if  I  can 
call  you  traitor.  You  said  Casimer  had  fought  in 
Poland/' 

"  Crudest  of  women,  he  did,  but  under  his  own  name, 
Sidney  Power." 

''  Then,  he  was  not  the  brave  Stanislas?  —  and  there 
is  no  charming  Casimer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  are  both,  —  his  and  my  friends,  in 
Paris ;  true  Poles,  and  when  we  go  there  3'ou  shall  see 
them." 

"  But  his  illness  was  a  ruse?  " 

' '  No  ;  he  was  wounded  in  the  war  and  has  been  ill 
since.  Not  of  a  fatal  malad}^  I  own  ;  his  cough  misled 
3^ou,  and  he  has  no  scruples  in  fabling  to  an3'  extent.  I 
am  not  to  bear  the  burden  of  his  sins." 

"  Then,  the  romances  he  told  us  about  your  charitv, 
your  virtues,  and  —  3^our  love  of  libert3'  were  false?" 
said  Helen,  with  a  keen  glance,  for  these  tales  had  done 
much  to  interest  her  in  the  unknown  baron. 

Sudden  color  rose  to  his  forehead,  and  for  the  first 
time  his  e3'es  fell  before  hers,  —  not  in  shame,  but  with 
a  modest  man's  rani03'ance  at  hearing  himself  praised. 

''  Sidney  is  enthusiastic  in  his  friendship,  and  speaks 
too  well  for  me.  The  facts  are  true,  but  he  doubtless 
glorified  the  simplest  b3^  his  wa3^  of  telling  it.  Will  you 
forgive  my  follies,  and  believe  me  when  I  promise  to 
pla3"  and  duel  no  more  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  3delded  her  hand  now,  and  her  C3'es  were  full  of 
happiness,  3'et  she  added,  wistfully,  — 


THE  BARON'S    GLOVES.  243 

"And  the  betrothed,  3'oiir  cousin,  Mhina,  —  is  she, 
in  truth,  not  dear  to  3'ou  ?  " 

"Very  dear,  but  less  so  than  another;  for  I  could 
not  learn  of  her  in  years  what  I  learned  in  a  day  when  I 
met  3^ou.  Helen,  this  was  begun  in  jest,  —  it  ends  in 
solemn  earnest,  for  I  love  my  libertj^,  and  I  have  lost 
it,  utterly  and  forever.  Yet  I  am  glad  ;  look  in  my  face 
and  tell  me  3'OU  believe  it." 

He  spoke  now  as  seriously  as  fervently,  and  with  no 
shadow  on  her  own,  Helen  brushed  back  the  blond  hair 
and  looked  into  her  lover's  face.  Truth,  tenderness, 
power,  and  candor  were  written  there  in  characters  that 
could  not  lie  ;  and  with  her  heart  upon  her  lips,  she 
answered,  as  he  drew  her  close,  — 

"  I  do  believe,  do  love  you,  Sigismuud  !  " 

Meanwhile  another  scene  was  passing  in  the  garden. 
Sidne}^,  presuming  upon  his  cousinship,  took  possession 
of  Am}^,  bidding  her  "  strike  but  hear  him."  Of  course 
she  listened  with  the  usual  accompaniment  of  tears  and 
smiles,  reproaches  and  exclamatiouis,  varied  hy  cruel 
exultations  and  coquettish  commands  to  go  away  and 
never  dare  approach  her  again. 

"  Ma  drogha,  listen  and  be  appeased.  Years  ago  you 
and  I  played  together  as  babies,  and  our  fond  mammas 
vowed  we  should  one  da^'  mate.  When  I  was  a  3'outh 
of  fourteen  and  3'ou  a  mite  of  seven  I  went  awa3^  to 
India  with  my  father,  and  at  our  parting  promised  to 
come  bagk  and  marr3'  3'ou.  Being  in  a  fret  because  3'Ou 
could  n't  go  also,  you  haughtily  declined  the  honor,  and 
when  I  offered  a  farewell  kiss,  struck  me  with  this  ver3; 
little  hand.     Do  3^ou  remember  it?  " 

"  Not  I.     Too  young  for  such  nonsense." 


244  PROVERB   STORIES. 

"  I  clo,  and  I  also  remember  that  in  m}^  boyish  way 
I  resolved  to  keep  m}^  word  sooner  or  latei ,  and  I  've 
done  it." 

"  We  shall  see,  sir,"  cried  Am}^  strongly  tempted  to 
repeat  her  part  of  the  childish  scene  as  well  as  her  cousin? 
but  her  hand  was  not  free,  and  he  got  the  kiss  without 
the  blow. 

"  For  eleven  years  we  never  met.  You  forgot  me 
entirely,  and  '  Cousin  Sidney '  remained  an  emptj'  namCo 
I  was  in  India  till  four  years  ago  ;  since  then  I  've  been 
fl3-ing  about  Germany  and  fighting  in  Poland,  where  I 
nearly  got  my  quietus." 

"  My  dear  boy,  were  you  wounded?  " 

"  Bless  you,  yes  ;  and  very  proud  of  it  I  am.  I  '11 
show  you  my  scars  some  day  ;  but  never  mind  that  now. 
A  little  while  ago  I  went  to  England,  seized  with  a 
sudden  desire  to  find  my  wife." 

' '  I  admire  your  patience  in  waiting  ;  so  flattering  to 
me,  you  know,"  was  the  sharp  answer. 

"It  looks  like  neglect,  I  confess;  but  I'd  heard 
reports  of  your  flirtations,  and  twice  of  your  being  en- 
gaged, so  I  kept  away  till  my  work  was  done.  Was  it 
true?" 

"  I  never  flirt,  Sidney,  and  I  was  only  engaged  a 
little  bit  once  or  twice.  I  did  n't  like  it,  and  never  mean 
to  do  so  any  more." 

"I  shall  see  that  you  don't  flirt;  but  3'ou  are  very 
much  engaged  now,  so  put  on  your  ring  and  make  no 
romances  about  any  '  S.  P.'  but  m3'self." 

"  I  shall  wait  till  3'ou  clear  3'our  character  ;  I  'm  not 
going  to  care  for  a  deceitful  impostor.  What  made  you 
think  of  this  prank  ?  " 


THE  BARON'S  GLOVES.    .  245 

**  You  did." 
"I?     How?" 

*'  When  in  England  I  saw  your  picture,  though  you 
were  man}^  a  mile  awa}-,  and  fell  in  love  with  it.  Your 
mother  told  me  much  about  you,  and  I  saw  she  would 
not  frown  upon  my  suit.  I  begged  her  not  to  tell  you  I 
had  come,  but  let  me  find  3^ou  and  make  myself  known 
wiien  I  hked.  You  were  in  Switzerland,  and  I  went 
after  3'ou.  At  Coblentz  I  met  Sigismund,  and  told  him 
my  case  ;  he  is  full  of  romance,  and  when  we  overheard 
30U  in  the  balconj"  we  were  glad  of  the  hint.  Sigismund 
was  with  me  when  3'ou  came,  and  admired  Helen  im- 
mensety,  so  he  was  wild  to  have  a  part  in  the  frolic.  I 
let  him  begin,  and  followed  3'ou  unseen  to  Heidelberg, 
meaning  to  personate  an  artist.  Meeting  3'ou  at  the 
castle,  I  made  a  good  beginning  with  the  vaults  and  the 
ring,  and  meant  to  follow  it  up- by  acting  the  baron,  3'ou 
were  so  bent  on  finding  him,  but  Sigismund  forbade  it. 
Turning  over  a  trunk  of  things  left  there  the  3^ear  before, 
I  came  upon  m3^  old  Polish  uniform,  and  decided  to  be 
a  Thaddeus." 

"  How  well  you  did  it !  Was  n't  it  hard  to  act  all  the 
time  ?  "  asked  Am3%  wonderingl3^ 

"  Very  hard  with  Helen,  she  is  so  keen,  but  not  a  bit 
so  with  you,  for  3'ou  are  such  a  confiding  soul  an3^  one 
could  cheat  3^ou.  I've  betrayed  m3' self  a  dozen  times, 
and  you  never  saw  it.  Ah,  it  was  capital  fun  to  pla3^ 
the  forlorn  exile,  study  English,  and  flirt  with  my 
cousin." 

''  It  was  very  base.  I  should  think  you  'd  be  devoured 
with  remorse.     Are  n't  3'ou  sony  ?  " 

"  For  one  thing.     I  cropped  my  head  lest  you  should 


246  PROVERB   STORIES. 

know  me.  I  was  proud  of  my  curls,  but  I  sacrificed 
them  all  to  you." 

"  Peacock  !  Did  3'ou  think  that  one  glimpse  of  3'our 
black  e3^es  and  fine  hair  would  make  such  an  impression 
that  I  should  recognize  you  again  ?  " 

"  I  did,  and  for  that  reason  disfigured  my  head,  put 
on  a  mustache,  and  assumed  hideous  spectacles.  Did 
you  never  suspect  my  disguise.  Amy  ?  " 

*'  No.  Helen  used  to  say  that  she  felt  something  was 
wrong,  but  I  never  did  till  the  other  night." 

' '  Did  n't  I  do  that  well  ?  I  give  you  my  word  it  was 
all  done  on  the  spur  of  the  minute.  I  meant  to  speak 
soon,  but  had  not  decided  how,  when  3'ou  came  out  so 
sweetly  with  that  confounded  old  cloak,  of  which  I  'd 
no  more  need  than  an  African  has  of  a  blanket.  Then 
a  scene  I  'd  read  in  a  novel  came  into  my  head,  and  I 
just  repeated  it  con  amove.  Was  I  very  pathetic  and 
tragical,  Am}'  ?  " 

' '  I  thought  so  then.  It  strikes  me  as  ridiculous  now, 
and  I  can't  help  feeling  sorry  that  I  wasted  so  much  pity 
on  a  man  who  —  " 

*'  Loves  3'ou  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  Did  3'ou  cry 
and  grieve  over  me,  dear  little  tender  thmg  ?  and  do  3'ou 
think  now  that  I  am  a  heartless  fellow,  bent  only  on 
amusing  myself  at  the  expense  of  others  ?  It 's  not  so  ; 
and  you  shall  see  how  true  and  good  and  steady  I  can 
be  when  I  have  any  one  to  love  and  care  for  me.  I  've 
been  alone  so  long  it 's  new  and  beautiful  to  be  petted, 
confided  in,  and  looked  up  to  b}'  an  angel  like  3'ou." 

He  was  in  earnest  now ;  she  felt  it,  and  her  anger 
melted  away  like  dew  before  the  sun. 

"  Poor  bo}' !     You  will  go  home  with  us  now,  and  let 


THE  BARON'S   GLOVES.  247 

us  take  care  of  you  in  quiet  England.  You  '11  play  no 
more  pranks,  but  go  sobeii}'  to  work  and  ^do  something 
that  shall  make  me  proud  to  be  your  cousin,  won't 
you?" 

''  If  you'll  change  '  cousin  '  to  '  wife  '  I  '11  be  and  do 
whatever  you  please.  Amy,  when  I  was  a  poor,  dying, 
Catholic  foreigner  you  loved  me  and  w^ould  have  married 
me  in  spite  of  everything.  Now  that  I  'm  joxxv  well, 
rich,  Protestant  cousin,  who  adores  you  as  that  Pole 
never  could,  3^ou  turn  cold  and  cruel.  Is  it  because  the 
romance  is  gone,  or  because  your  love  was  onl}^  a  girl's 
fancy,  after  all  ?  " 

"You  deceived  me  and  I  can't  forget  it;  but  I'll 
tr}',''  was  the  soft  answer  to  his  reproaches. 

"  Are  3'ou  disappointed  that  I  'm  not  a  baron?  " 

"A  little  bit." 

"  Shall  I  be  a  count?  They  gave  me  a  title  in  Po- 
land, a  barren  honor,  but  all  the}^  had  to  offer,  poor 
souls,  in  return  for  a  little  blood.  Will  3'ou  be  Countess 
Zytomar  and  get  laughed  at  for  3'our  pains,  or  plain 
Mrs.  Power,  with  a  good  old  English  name?" 

'•'•  Neither,  thank  you  ;  it's  only  a  girlish  fancy,  which 
will  soon  be  forgotten.  Does  the  baron  love  Helen  ?  " 
asked  Amy,  abruptly. 

"  Desperately,  and  she?" 

"  I  think  he  will  be  happy  ;  she  is  not  one  to  make 
confidantes,  but  I  know  hy  her  tenderness  with  me,  her 
sadness  latelj^,  and  something  in  her  way  of  brightening 
when  he  comes,  that  she  thinks  much  of  him  and  loves 
Karl  Hoffman.  How  it  will  be  with  the  baron  I  can- 
not say." 

"No  fear  of  him ;  he  wins  his  wa}^  ever}"  where.     I 


24b  PROVERB   STORIES. 

wish  I  were  as  fortunate  ;  "  and  the  ga.y  3^oung  gentleman 
heaved  an  artful  sigh  and  coughed  the  cough  that  always 
brought  such  pity  to  the  girl's  soft  eyes. 

She  glanced  at  him  as  he  leaned  pensivel}'  on  the  low 
wall,  looking  down  into  the  lake,  with  the  level  raj's  of 
sunshine  on  his  comely  face  and  figure.  Something 
softer  than  pity  stole  into  her  63^6,  as  she  said,  anx- 
iously, — 

"  You  are  not  realty  ill,  Sidne}^?" 

"  I  have  been,  and  still  need  care,  else  I  ma}'  have  a 
relapse,"  was  the  reply  of  this  treacherous  3'outh,  whose 
constitution  was  as  sound  as  a  bell. 

Amy  clasped  her  hands,  as  if  in  a  transport  of  grati- 
tude, exclaiming,  fervently,  — 

' '  What  a  relief  it  is  to  know  that  you  are  not  doomed 
to  —  " 

She  paused  with  a  shiver,  as  if  the  word  were  too 
hard  to  utter,  and  Sidney  turned  to  her  with  a  beaming 
face,  which  changed  to  one  of  mingled  pain  and  anger, 
as  she  added,  with  a  wicked  glance,  — 

"  Wear  spectacles." 

"  Ani}^,  you've  got  no  heart!"  he  cried,  in  a  tone 
that  banished  her  last  doubt  of  his  love  and  made  her 
whisper  tenderly,  as  she  clung  to  his  arm,  — 

"  No,  dear ;  I've  given  it  all  to  3'ou." 

Punctual  to  the  minute.  Major  Erskine  marched  into 
the  salon,  with  Mrs.  Cumberland  on  his  arm,  exclaim- 
ing, as  he  ej^ed  the  four  young  people  together  again,  — 

"Now,  ladies,  is  it  to  be  'Paradise  Lost'  or  'Re- 
gained '  for  the  prisoners  at  the  bar  ?  " 

At  this  point  the  astonished  gentleman  found  himself 
taken  possession  of  by  four  excited  individuals,  for  the 


TTIE   BARON'S   GLOVES.  249 

girls  embraced  and  kissed  him,  the  j'oiing  men  wrung 
his  hand  and  thanked  liim,  and  all  seemed  bent  on 
assuring  him  that  they  were  intensel}'  happ}',  grateful 
and  affectionate. 

From  this  assault  he  emerged  flushed  and  breathless, 
but  beaming  with  satisfaction,  and  sa3'ing  paternally,  — 

"Bless  3'ou,  m}^  children,  bless  you.  I  hoped  and 
worked  for  this,  and  to  prove  how  well  I  practise  what 
I  preach,  let  me  present  to  you  —  mj'  wife." 

As  he  drew  forward  the  plump  widow  with  a  face  full 
of  smiles  and  tears,  a  second  rush  was  made,  and  con- 
gratulations, salutes,  exclamations  and  embraces  were 
indulged  in  to  ever}'  one's  satisfaction. 

As  the  excitement  subsided  the  major  said,  simpl}', — 

"We  were  married  yesterday'  at  Montreaux.  Let 
me  hope  that  you  will  prove  as  faithful  as  I  have  been, 
as  happ3'  as  I  am,  as  blest  as  I  shall  be.  I  loved  this 
lad}^  in  my  j^outh,  have  waited  many  3'ears,  and  am  re- 
warded at  last,  for  love  never  comes  too  late." 

The  falter  in  his  cheery  voice,  the  dimness  of  his 
eyes,  the  smile  on  his  lips,  and  the  gesture  with  which 
he  returned  the  pressure  of  the  hand  upon  his  arm, 
told  the  little  romance  of  the  good  major's  life  more 
eloquently  than  pages  of  fine  writing,  and  touched  the 
hearts  of  those  who  loved  him. 

"  I  have  been  faithful  for  eleven  j^ears.  Give  me  my 
reward  soon,  won't  3'ou,  dear?"  whispered  Sidney. 

"Don't  marry  me  to-morrow,  and  if  mamma  is  will- 
ing I  '11  think  about  it  b}'  and  by,"  answered  Am3\ 

"It  is  beautiful!  let  us  go  and  do  likewise,"  said 
Sigismund  to  his  betrothed. 

But  Helen,  anxious  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  all  from 


250  PROVERB   STORIES. 

emotions  too  deep  for  words,  drew  from  her  pocket  a 
small  pearl-colored  object,  which  she  gave  to  Amy  with 
mock  solemnit}^,  as  she  said,  torning  to  la}^  her  hand 
again  in  her  lover's,  — 

"Amy,    our   search   is   over.       You   may  keep   the 
gloves  ;  /  have  the  baron." 


MY  RED   CAP. 

"  He  who  serves  well  need  not  fear  to  ask  his  wages/ 


IT  was  under  a  blue  cap  that  I  first  saw  the  honest 
face  of  Joe  Collins.  In  the  third  3'ear  of  the  late 
war  a  Maine  regiment  was  passing  through  Boston,  on 
its  way  to  Washington.  The  Common  was  all  ahve 
with  troops  and  the  spectators  who  clustered  round 
them  to  sa}"  God-speed,  as  the  brave  fellows  marched 
awa}^  to  meet  danger  and  death  for  our  sakes. 

Ever}'  one  was  eager  to  do  something ;  and,  as  the 
men  stood  at  ease,  the  people  mingled  freely  with  them, 
offering  gifts,  hearty  grips  of  the  hand,  and  hopeful 
prophecies  of  victory  in  the  end.  Irresistibly  attracted, 
m}^  boy  Tom  and  I  drew  near,  and  soon,  becoming  ex- 
cited by  the  scene,  ravaged  the  fruit-stands  in  our 
neighborhood  for  tokens  of  our  regard,  mingling  candy 
and  congratulations,  peanuts  and  prayers,  apples  and 
applause,  in  one  enthusiastic  jumble. 

While  Tom  was  off  on  his  third  raid,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  man  who  stood  a  little  apart,  looking 
as  if  his  thoughts  were  far  away.  All  the  men  were 
fine,  stalwart  fellows,  as  Maine  men  usuall}^  are  ;  but 
this  one  over-topped  his  comrades,  standing  straight 
and  tall  as  a   Norway  pine,   with   a  face  full  of  the 


252  PROVERB  STORIES. 

mingled  shrewdness,  sobriet}',  and  self-possession  of 
the  t3'pical  New  Englander.  I  liked  the  look  of  him  ; 
and,  seeing  that  he  seemed  solitary,  even  in  a  crowd,  I 
offered  him  my  last  apple  with  a  word  of  interest.  The 
keen  blue  eyes  met  mine  gratefully,  and  the  apple  be- 
gan to  vanish  in  vigorous  bites  as  we  talked ;  for  no 
one  thought  of  ceremony  at  such  a  time. 

"  Where  are  you  from?  " 

"  Woolidge,  ma'am." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  go?  " 

"  Wal,  there's  two  sides  to  that  question.  I  calk'late 
to  do  mj^  dut^^  and  do  it  hearty ;  but  it  is  rough  on  a 
feller  leavin'  his  folks,  for  good,  maj'be." 

There  was  a  sudden  huskiness  in  the  man's  voice  that 
was  not  apple-skins,  though  he  tried  to  make  believe 
that  it  was.  I  knew  a  word  about  home  would  comfort 
him,  so  I  went  on  with  m}^  questions. 

"  It  is  very  hard.     Do  you  leave  a  family?  " 

"  My  old  mother,  a  sick  brother,  —  and  Lucind}'." 

The  last  word  was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  intense  regret, 
and  his  brown  cheek  reddened  as  he  added  hastily,  to 
hide  some  embarrassment,  — 

''You  see,  Jim  went  last  year,  and  got  prett}'  well 
used  up  ;  so  I  felt  as  if  I  'd  ought  to  take  m}^  turn  now. 
Mother  was  a  regular  old  hero  about  it  and  I  dropped 
everything,  and  come  off.  Lucind}'  did  n't  think  it  was 
my  duty ;  and  that  made  it  awful  hard,  I  tell  3'ou." 

"Wives  are  less  patriotic  than  mothers,"  I  began ; 
but  he  would  not  hear  Lucindy  blamed,  and  said 
quickly,  — 

"  She  ain't  my  wife  yet,  but  we  calk'latcd  to  be 
married  in  a  month  or  so  :  and  it  was  wus  for  her  than 


MY  RED  CAP.  253 

for  me,  women  lot  so  on  not  being  disappointed.  I 
couldn't  shirk,  and  here  I  be.  When  I  git  to  work,  I 
shall  be  all  right :  the  first  wrench  is  the  tryin'  part." 

Here  he  straightened  his  broad  shoulders,  and  turned 
his  face  toward  the  flags  fluttering  far  in  front,  as  if  no 
backward  look  should  betray  the  longing  of  his  heart 
for  mother,  home,  and  wife.  I  liked  that  little  glnnpse 
of  character  ;  and  when  Tom  returned  with  empty  hands, 
reporting  that  ever}^  stall  was  exhausted,  I  told  him  to 
find  out  what  the  man  would  like  best,  then  run  across 
the  street  and  get  it. 

"I  know  without  asking.  Give  us  jour  purse,  and 
I  '11  make  him  as  happ}^  as  a  king,"  said  the  bo}^  laugh- 
ing, as  he  looked  up  admiringly  at  our  tall  friend,  who 
looked  down  on  him  with  an  elder-brotherly  air  pleas- 
ant to  see.  While  Tom  was  gone,  I  found  out  Joe's 
name  and  business,  promised  to  write  and  tell  his 
mother  how  finely  the  regiment  went  ofi",  and  was  just 
expressing  a  hope  that  we  might  meet  again,  for  I  too 
was  going  to  the  war  as  nurse,  when  the  order  to  "  Fall 
in ! "  came  rolling  down  the  ranks,  and  the  talk  was 
over.  Fearing  Tom  would  miss  our  man  in  the  con- 
fusion, I  kept  my  eye  on  him  till  the  boy  came  rushing 
up  with  a  packet  of  tobacco  in  one  hand  and  a  good 
supply  of  cigars  in  the  other.  Not  a  romantic  oflering, 
certainly,  but  a  very  acceptable  one,  as  Joe's  face 
proved,  as  we  scrambled  these  treasures  into  his 
pockets,  all  laughing  at  the  flurry,  while  less  fortunate 
comrades  hel^^ed  us,  with  an  eye  to  a  share  of  these  fra- 
grant luxuries  by  and  by.  There  was  just  time  for  this, 
a  hearty  shake  of  the  big  hand,  and  a  grateful  "  Good- 
by,  ma'am  ;  "  then  the  word  was  given,  and  they  were 


254  PROVERB   STORIES. 

off.  Bent  on  seeing  the  last  of  them,  Tom  and  I  took 
a  short  cut,  and  came  out  on  the  wide  street  down 
which  so  many  troops  marched  that  3^ear ;  and,  mount- 
ing some  high  steps,  we  watched  for  our  man,  as  we 
ah^ead}^  called  him. 

As  the  inspiring  music,  the  grand  tramp,  drew  near, 
the  old  thi'ill  went  through  the  crowd,  the  old  cheer 
broke  out.  But  it  was  a  different  scene  now  than  in 
the  first  enthusiastic,  hopeful  daj's.  Young  men  and 
ardent  bo3's  filled  the  ranks  then,  brave  bj'  instinct, 
burning  with  lo^al  zeal,  and  blissfully  unconscious  of 
all  that  lay  before  them.  Now  the  blue  coats  were 
worn  b}^  mature  men,  some  gray,  all  grave  and  resolute  : 
husbands  and  fathers,  with  the  memory  of  wives  and 
children  tugging  at  their  heart-strings ;  homes  left 
desolate  behind  them,  and  before  them  the  grim  cer- 
tainty of  danger,  hardship,  and  perhaps  the  life-long 
helplessness  worse  than  death.  Little  of  the  glamour 
of  romance  about  the  war  now  :  they  saw  it  as  it  was,  a 
long,  hard  task ;  and  here  were  the  men  to  do  it  well. 
Even  the  lookers-on  were  different  now.  Once  all  was 
wild  enthusiasm  and  glad  uproar ;  now  men's  lips  were 
set,  and  women's  smileless  as  they  cheered ;  fewer 
handkerchiefs  whitened  the  air,  for  wet  eyes  needed 
them  ;  and  sudden  lulls,  almost  solemn  in  their  still- 
ness, followed  the  acclamations  of  the  crowd.  All 
watched  with  quickened  breath  and  brave  souls  that 
living  wave,  blue  below,  and  bright  with  a  steelj'  glitter 
above,  as  it  flowed  down  the  street  and  awa}^  to  distant 
battle-fields  already  stained  with  precious  blood. 

"There  he  is!  The  outside  man,  and  tallest  of  the 
lot.     Give  him  a  cheer,  auntie  :  he  sees  us,  and  remem- 


il/F  RED   CAP.  255 

bers  !  "  cried  Tom,  nearl}^  tumbling  off  his  perch,  as  he 
waved  his  hat,  and  pointed  out  Joe  Collins. 

Yes,  there  he  was,  looking  up,  with  a  smile  on  his 
brave  brown  face,  m}'  little  nosega}^  in  his  button-hole, 
a  suspicious  bulge  in  the  pocket  close  b}^,  and  doubtless 
a  comfortable  quid  in  his  mouth,  to  cheer  the  weary 
inarch.  How  like  an  old  friend  he  looked,  though  we 
had  only  met  fifteen  minutes  ago  ;  how  glad  we  were  to 
be  there  to  smile  back  at  him,  and  send  him  on  his  way 
feeling  that,  even  in  a  strange  city,  there  was  some  one 
to  say,  "  God  bless  y/)u,  Joe  !  "  We  watched  the  tallest 
blue  cap  till  it  vanished,  and  then  went  home  in  a  glow 
of  patriotism,  —  Tom  to  long  for  his  turn  to  come,  I  to 
sew  vigorously  on  the  gray  gown  the  new  nurse  burned 
to  wear  as  soon  as  possible,  and  both  of  us  to  think  and 
speak  often  of  poor  Joe  Collins  and  his  Lucindy.  All 
this  happened  long  ago ;  but  it  is  well  to  recall  those 
stirring  times,  —  to  keep  fresh  the  memory  of  sacrifices 
made  for  us  by  men  like  these ;  to  see  to  it  that  the 
debt  we  owe  them  is  honestly,  gladly  paid  ;  and,  while 
we  decorate  the  graves  of  those  who  died,  to  remember 
also  those  who  still  live  to  deserve  our  grateful  care. 


II. 


I  NEVER  expected  to  see  Joe  again  ;  but,  six  months 
later,  we  did  meet  in  a  Washington  hospital  one  winter's 
night.  A  train  of  ambulances  had  left  their  sad  freight 
at  our  door,  and  we  were  hurrying  to  get  the  poor  fel- 
lows into  much-needed  beds,  after  a  week  of  hunger, 


'  256  PROVERB  STORIES. 

cold,  and  unavoidable  neglect.  All  forms  of  pain  were 
in  my  ward  that  night,  and  all  borne  with  the  pathetic 
patience  which  was  a  daily  marvel  to  those  who  saw  it. 

Trj^ing  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos,  I  was  rushing  up 
and  down  the  narrow  aisle  between  the  rows  of  rapidly 
filling  beds,  and,  after  brushing  several  times  against  a 
pair  of  the  largest  and  muddiest  boots  I  ever  saw,  I 
paused  at  last  to  inquire  why  they  were  impeding  the 
passage-way.  I  found  they  belonged  to  a  verj^  tall  man 
who  seemed  to  be  already  asleep  or  dead,  so  white  and 
still  and  utterly  worn  out  he  looked  as  he  lay  there, 
without  a  coat,  a  great  patch  on  his  forehead,  and  the 
right  arm  rudel}^  bundled  up.  Stooping  to  cover  him,  I 
saw  that  he  was  unconscious,  and,  whipping  out  my 
brandy-bottle  and  salts,  soon  brought  him  round,  for  it 
was  onlj'  exhaustion. 

"Can  3^ou  eat?"  I  asked,  as  he  said,  "  Thank}^, 
ma'am,"  after  a  long  draught  of  water  and  a  dizzy 
stare. 

"Eat!  I'm  starvin' !  "  he  answered,  with  such  a 
ravenous  glance  at  a  fat  nurse  who  happened  to  be  pass- 
ing,  that  I  trembled  for  her,  and  hastened  to  take  a  bowl 
of  soup  from  her  tray. 

As  I  fed  him,  his  gaunt,  weather-beaten  face  had  a 
familiar  look  ;  but  so  man}'  such  faces  had  passed  before 
me  that  winter,  I  did  not  recall  this  one  till  the  ward- 
master  came  to  put  up  the  cards  with  the  new-comers' 
names  above  their  beds.  M3'  man  seemed  absorbed  in 
his  food ;  but  I  naturally'  glanced  at  the  card,  and  there 
was  the  name  "  Joseph  Collins  "  to  give  me  an  addi- 
tional interest  in  m}'  new  patient. 

"  Why,  Joe  !  is  it  really  you?  "  1  exclaimed,  poui'ing 


MF  RED   CAP.  257 

the  last  spoonful  of  soup  down  his  throat  so  hastily  that 
I  choked  him. 

''  All  that 's  left  of  me.  Wal,  ain't  this  luck,  now?  " 
gasped  Joe,  as  gratefully  as  if  that  hospital-cot  was  a 
bed  of  roses. 

''What  is  the  matter?  A  wound  in  the  head  and 
arm?  "  I  asked,  feeling  sure  that  no  slight  affliction  had 
brought  Joe  there. 

"  Right  arm  gone.  Shot  off  as  slick  as  a  whistle.  I 
tell  3'ou,  it  'b  a  sing'lar  kind  of  a  feelin'  to  see  a  piece  of 
your  own  body  go  flyin'  awa}^,  with  no  prospect  of  ever 
coming  back  again,"  said  Joe,  trying  to  make  light  of 
one  of  the  greatest  misfortunes  a  man  can  suffer. 

"  That  is  bad,  but  it  might  have  been  worse.  Keep 
up  3^our  spirits,  Joe ;  and  we  will  soon  have  you  fitted 
out  with  a  new  arm  almost  as  good  as  new." 

"  I  guess  it  won't  do  much  lumberin',  so  that  trade  is 
done  for.  I  s'pose  there  's  things  left-handed  fellers  can 
do,  and  1  must  learn  'em  as  soon  as  possible,  since  my 
fightin'  days  are  over,"  and  Joe  looked  at  his  one  aiTu 
with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan,  helplessness  is  such 
a  trial  to  a  manly  man,  —  and  he  was  eminent^  so. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  comfort  j^ou  most,  Joe?  I'll 
send  m}^  good  Ben  to  help  3  ou  to  bed,  and  will  be  here 
m3'self  when  the  surgeon  goes  his  rounds.  Is  tliere  any- 
thing else  that  would  make  you  more  easy  ?  " 

"  If  you  could  just  drop  a  line  to  mother  to  let  her 
know  I  'm  alive,  it  would  be  a  sight  of  comfort  to  both 
of  us.  I  guess  I  'm  in  for  a  long  spell  of  hospital,  and 
I  'd  la3'  easier  if  I  knew  mother  and  Lncind3'  warn't 
frettin'  about  me." 

He  must  have  been  suffering  terribly,  but  he  thought 
17 


258  PROVERB  STORIES. 

of  the  women  who  loved  him  before  himself,  and,  busy 
as  I  was,  I  snatched  a  moment  to  send  a  few  w^ords  of 
hope  to  the  old  mother.  Then  I  left  him  "  la^-in'  easy," 
though  the  prospect  of  some  months  of  wearing  pain 
would  have  daunted  most  men.  If  I  had  needed  any- 
thing to  increase  m}"  regard  for  Joe,  it  would  have  been 
the  courage  with  which  he  bore  a  ver}^  bad  quarter  of  an 
hour  with  the  surgeons  ;  for  his  arm  was  in  a  dangerous 
state,  the  wound  in  the  head  feverish  for  want  of  care ; 
and  a  heav\^  cold  on  the  lungs  suggested  pneumonia  as 
an  added  trial  to  his  list  of  ills. 

"  He  will  have  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  I  think  he  will 
pull  through,  as  he  is  a  temperate  fellow,  with  a  splendid 
constitution,"  was  the  doctor's  verdict,  as  he  left  us  for 
the  next  man,  who  was  past  help,  with  a  bullet  through 
his  lungs. 

'^  I  don'no  as  I  hanker  to  live,  and  be  a  burden.  If 
Jim  was  able  to  do  for  mother,  I  feel  as  if  I  would  n't 
mind  steppin'  out  now  I  'm  so  fur  along.  As  he  ain't, 
I  s'pose  I  must  brace  up,  and  do  the  best  I  can,"  said 
Joe,  as  I  wiped  the  drops  from  his  forehead,  and  tried 
to  look  as  if  his  prospect  was  a  bright  one. 

"  You  will  have  Lucindy  to  help  you,  you  know  ;  and 
that  will  make  things  easier  for  all." 

' '  Think  so  ?  'Pears  to  me  I  could  n't  ask  her  to  take 
care  of  three  invalids  for  my  sake.  She  ain't  no  folks 
of  her  own,  nor  much  means,  and  ought  to  marry  a  man 
who  can  make  thiugs  easy  for  her.  Guess  I  '11  have  to 
wait  a  spell  longer  before  I  say  anything  to  Lucindj' 
about  niarr3'in'  now  ;  "  and  a  look  of  resolute  resignation 
settled  on  Joe's  haggard  face  as  he  gave  up  his  dearest 
hope. 


MY  RED   CAP.  259 

"  I  think  Lucind}"  will  have  something  to  say,  if  she 
is  like  most  women,  and  you  will  find  the  burdens  much 
lighter,  for  sharing  them  between  you.  Don't  worry 
about  that,  but  get  well,  and  go  home  as  soon  as  you 
can." 

"  All  right,  ma^am  ;  '*  and  Joe  proved  himself  a  good 
soldier  by  obeying  orders,  and  falling  asleep  like  a  tired 
child,  as  the  first  step  toward  recovery. 

For  two  months  I  saw  Joe  daily,  and  learned  to  like 
him  very  much,  he  was  so  honest,  genuine,  and  kind- 
hearted.  So  did  his  mates,  for  he  made  friends  with 
them  all  by  sharing  such  small  luxuries  as  came  to  him, 
for  he  was  a  favorite  ;  and,  better  still,  he  made  sun- 
shine in  that  sad  place  by  the  brave  patience  with  which 
he  bore  his  own  troubles,  the  cheerful  consolation  he 
always  gave  to  others.  A  droll  fellow  was  Joe  at  times, 
for  under  his  sobriety  lay  much  humor :  and  I  soon 
discovered  that  a  visit  from  him  was  more  eflScacious 
than  other  cordials  in  cases  of  despondenc}'  and  discon- 
tent. Roars  of  laughter  sometimes  greeted  me  as  I 
went  into  his  ward,  and  Joe's  jokes  were  passed  round 
as  eagerly  as  the  water-pitcher. 

Yet  he  had  much  to  try  him,  not  only  in  the  ills  that 
vexed  his  flesh,  but  the  cares  that  tried  his  spirit,  and 
the  future  that  lay  before  him,  full  of  anxieties  and  re- 
sponsibilities which  seemed  so  heavy  now  when  the 
strong  right  arm,  that  had  cleared  all  obstacles  away 
before,  was  gone.  The  letters  I  wrote  for  him,  and 
those  he  received,  told  the  little  story  very  plainly  ;  for 
he  read  them  to  me,  and  found  much  comfort  in  talking 
over  his  aff"airs,  as  most  men  do  when  illness  makes  them 
dependent  on  a  woman.      Jim  was  evidently  sick  and 


260  PROVERB  STORIES. 

selfish.  Lucindy,  to  judge  from  the  photograph  cher- 
ished so  tenderly  under  Joe's  pillow,  was  a  pretty,  weak 
sort  of  a  girl,  with  little  character  or  courage  to  help 
poor  Joe  with  his  burdens.  The  old  mother  was  very 
like  her  son,  and  stood  b}^  him  "  like  a  hero,"  as  he  said, 
but  was  evidently  failing,  and  begged  him  to  come  home 
as  soon  as  he  was  able,  that  she  might  see  him  comfort- 
ably settled  before  she  must  leave  him.  Her  courage 
sustained  his,  and  the  longing  to  see  her  hastened  his 
departure  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to  let  him  go ;  for 
Lucind^^'s  letters  were  alwa3's  of  a  dismal  sort,  and  made 
him  anxious  to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel. 

"  She  always  set  consider'ble  by  me,  mother  did,  bein' 
the  oldest ;  and  I  would  n't  miss  makin'  her  last  days 
happy,  not  if  it  cost  me  all  the  arms  and  legs  I  've  got," 
said  Joe,  as  he  awkwardly  struggled  into  the  big  boots 
an  hour  after  leave  to  go  home  was  given  him. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  his  comrades  gather  round  him 
with  such  hearty  adieus  that  his  one  hand  must  have 
tingled  ;  to  hear  the  good  wishes  and  the  thanks  called 
after  him  by  pale  creatures  in  their  beds ;  and  to  find 
tears  in  many  e3^es  beside  my  own  when  he  was  gone, 
and  nothing  was  left  of  hmi  but  the  empt}^  cot,  the  old 
gray  wrapper,  and  the  name  upon  the  wall. 

I  kept  that  card  among  ni}-  other  relics,  and  hoped  to 
meet  Joe  again  somewhere  in  the  world.  He  sent  me 
one  or  two  letters,  then  I  went  home  ;  the  war  ended 
soon  after,  time  passed,  and  the  little  story  of  my  Maine 
lumberman  was  laid  away  with  man}'  other  exi)eriences 
which  made  that  part  of  my  life  a  very  memorable  one. 


MY  RED   CAP.  261 


m. 


Some  j^ears  later,  as  I  looked  out  of  my  window  one 
dull  November  day,  the  only  cheerful  thing  I  saw  was 
the  red  cap  of  a  messenger  who  was  examining  the  slate 
that  hung  on  a  wall  opposite  my  hotel.  A  tall  man 
with  gray  hair  and  beard,  one  arm,  and  a  blue  army- 
coat.  I  alwaj's  salute,  figuratively  at  least,  when  I  see 
that  familiar  blue,  especially  if  one  sleeve  of  the  coat  is 
empt}^ ;  so  I  watched  the  messenger  with  interest  as  he 
trudged  awa}^  on  some  new  errand,  wishing  he  had  a 
better  day  and  a  thicker  pair  of  boots.  He  was  an  un- 
usuall}'  large,  well-made  man,  and  reminded  me  of  a 
fine  building  going  to  ruin  before  its  time  ;  for  the  broad 
shoulders  were  bent,  there  was  a  stiffness  about  the  long 
legs  suggestive  of  wounds  or  rheumatism,  and  the  curly 
hair  looked  as  if  snow  had  fallen  on  it  too  soon.  Sitting 
at  work  in  my  window,  I  fell  into  the  way  of  watching 
my  Eed  Cap,  as  I  called  him,  with  more  interest  than  I 
did  the  fat  doves  on  the  roof  opposite,  or  the  pert  spar- 
rows hopping  in  the  mud  below.  I  liked  the  steady  way 
in  which  he  plodded  on  through  fair  weather  or  foul,  as 
if  intent  on  doing  well  the  one  small  service  he  had 
found  to  do.  I  liked  his  cheerful  whistle  as  he  stood 
waiting  for  a  job  under  the  porch  of  the  public  building 
where  his  slate  hung,  watching  the  luxurious  carriages 
roll  by,  and  the  well-to-do  gentlemen  who  daily  passed 
him  to  their  comfortable  homes,  with  a  steady,  patient 
sort  of  face,  as  if  wondering  at  the  inequalities  of  for- 
tune, yet  neither  melanchol}^  nor  morose  over  the  small 
share  of  prosperit}-  which  had  fallen  to  his  lot. 


262  PROVERB   STORIES. 

I  often  planned  to  give  him  a  job,  that  I  might  see 
him  nearer ;  but  I  had  few  errands,  and  httle  Bob,  the 
hall-boy,  depended  on  doing  those :  so  the  winter  was 
nearly  over  before  I  found  out  that  my  Red  Cap  was  an 
old  friend. 

A  parcel  came  for  me  one  day,  and  bidding  the  man 
wait  for  an  answer,  I  sat  down  to  write  it,  while  the 
messenger  stood  just  inside  the  door  like  a  sentinel  on 
duty.  When  I  looked  up  to  give  my  note  and  direc- 
tions, I  found  the  man  staring  at  me  with  a  beaming 
yet  bashful  face,  as  he  nodded,  saying  heartil}^,  — 

"I  mistrusted  it  was  you,  ma'am,  soon 's  I  see  the 
name  on  the  bundle,  and  I  guess  I  ain't  wrong.  It 's 
a  number  of  3'ears  sence  we  met,  and  you  don't  remem- 
ber Joe  Collins  as  well  as  he  does  you,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"Why,  how  you  have  changed!  I've  been  seeing 
you  every  day  all  winter,  and  never  knew  you,"  I  said, 
shaking  hands  with  my  old  patient,  and  very  glad  to 
see  him. 

"  Nigh  on  to  twenty  years  makes  consid'able  of  a 
change  in  folks,  'specially  if  they  have  a  pretty  hard 
row  to  hoe." 

''  Sit  down  and  warm  yourself  while  you  tell  me  all 
about  it ;  there  is  no  hurry  for  this  answer,  and  I  '11  pay 
for  your  time." 

Joe  laughed  as  if  that  was  a  good  joke,  and  sat  down 
as  if  the  fire  was  quite  as  welcome  as  the  friend. 

"How  are  they  all  at  home?"  I  asked,  as  he  sat 
turning  his  cap  round,  not  quite  knowing  where  to 
begin. 

I  have  n't  got  any  home  nor  any  folks  neither ;  " 
and  the  melancholy  words  banished  the  brightness  from 


MY  RED  CAP,  263 

his  rough  face  like  a  cloud.  "  Mother  died  soon  after 
I  got  back.  Suddin',  but  she  was  read}-,  and  I  was 
there,  so  she  was  happ}'.  Jim  live^d  a  number  of  3'ears, 
and  was  a  sight  of  care,  poor  feller ;  but  we  managed 
to  rub  along,  though  we  had  to  sell  the  farm :  for  I 
could  n't  do  much  with  one  arm,  and  doctor's  bills  right 
along  stiddy  take  a  heap  of  money.  He  was  as  com- 
fortable as  he  could  be  ;  and,  when  he  was  gone,  it 
was  n't  no  great  matter,  for  there  was  only  me,  and  I 
don't  mind  roughin'  it." 

"  But  Lucindy,  where  was  she?"  I  asked  very  natur- 
aUy. 

*'  Oh  !  she  married  another  man  long  ago.  Couldn't 
expect  her  to  take  me  and  my  misfortins.  She  's  doin* 
well,  I  hear,  and  that 's  a  comfort  anyway." 

There  was  a  look  on  Joe's  face,  a  tone  in  Joe's  voice 
as  he  spoke,  that  plainl}^  showed  how  much  he  had 
needed  comfort  when  left  to  bear  his  misfortunes  all 
alone.  But  he  made  no  complaint,  uttered  no  reproach, 
and  loyally  excused  Lucindy's  desertion  with  a  simple 
sort  of  dignit}'  that  made  it  impossible  to  express  pity 
or  condemnation. 

"How  came  you  here,  Joe?"  I  asked,  making  a 
sudden  leap  from  past  to  present. 

"  I  had  to  scratch  for  a  livin',  and  can't  do  much; 
so,  after  tr3in'  a  number  of  things,  I  found  this.  My 
old  wounds  pester  me  a  good  deal,  and  rheumatism  is 
bad  winters  ;  but,  while  my  legs  hold  out,  I  can  git  on. 
A  man  can't  set  down  and  starve  ;  so  I  keep  waggin'  as 
long  as  I  can.  When  I  can't  do  no  more,  I  s'pose 
there  's  almshouse  and  hospital  ready  for  me." 

'^^  That  is  a  dismal  prospect,  Joe.     There  ought  to  be 


264  PROVERB   STORIES. 

a  comfortable  place  for  such  as  3  ou  to  spend  your  last 
days  in.     I  am  sure  you  have  earned  it." 

''  Wal,  it  does  seem  ruther  hard  on  us  when  we've 
give  all  we  had,  and  give  it  free  and  hearty,  to  be  left 
to  knock  about  in  our  old  age.  But  there  's  so  many 
poor  folks  to  be  took  care  of,  we  don't  get  much  of  a 
chance,  for  we  ain't  the  beggin'  sort,"  said  Joe,  with  a 
wistful  look  at  the  wintry  world  outside,  as  if  it  would 
be  better  to  lie  quiet  under  the  snow,  than  to  drag  out 
his  last  painful  3^ears,  friendless  and  forgotten,  in  some 
refuge  of  the  poor. 

"  Some  kind  people  have  been  talking  of  a  home  for 
soldiers,  and  I  hope  the  plan  will  be  carried  out.  It 
will  take  time ;  but,  if  it  comes  to  pass,  yon  shall  be 
one  of  the  first  men  to  enter  that  home,  Joe,  if  I  can 
get  you  there." 

*'  That  sounds  mighty  cheerin'  and  comfortable, 
thanky,  ma'am.  Idleness  is  dreadful  tr3'in'  to  me,  and 
I'd  ruther  wear  out  than  rust  out;  so  I  guess  I  can 
weather  it  a  spell  longer.  But  it  will  be  pleasant  to 
look  forrard  to  a  snug  harbor  bymeby.  I  feel  a  sight 
better  just  hearin'  tell  about  it."  He  certainly  looked 
so,  faint  as  the  hope  was  ;  for  the  melancholy  eyes 
brightened  as  if  they  already  saw  a  happier  refuge  in 
the  future  than  almshouse,  hospital,  or  grave,  and,  when 
he  trudged  away  upon  my  errand,  he  went  as  briskly  as 
if  every  step  took  him  nearer  to  the  promised  home. 

After  that  day  it  was  all  up  with  Bob,  for  I  told  my 
neighbors  Joe's  story,  and  we  kept  him  trotting  busil3S 
adding  little  gifts,  and  taking  the  sort  of  interest  in  him 
that  comforted  the  lonely  fellow,  and  made  him  feel  that 
he  had  not  outlived  his  usefulness.     I  never  looked  out 


MY  RED  CAP.  265 

when  he  was  at  his  post  that  he  did  not  smile  back  at 
me ;  I  never  passed  him  in  the  street  that  the  red  cap 
was  not  tonched  with  a  military  flourish  ;  and,  when 
any  of  us  beckoned  to  him,  no  twinge  of  rheumatism 
was  too  sharp  to  keep  him  from  hurrjing  to  do  our 
errands,  as  if  he  had  Mercury's  winged  feet. 

Now  and  then  he  came  in  for  a  chat,  and  always 
asked  how  the  Soldiers'  Home  was  prospering ;  ex- 
pressing his  opinion  that  ' '  Boston  was  the  charitablest 
city  under  the  sun,  and  he  was  sure  he  and  his  mates 
would  be  took  care  of  somehow." 

When  we  parted  in  the  spring,  I  told  him  things 
looked  hopeful,  bade  him  be  ready  for  a  good  long  rest 
as  soon  as  the  hospitable  doors  were  open,  and  left  him 
nodding  cheerfullj^ 


IV. 


But  in  the  autumn  I  looked  in  vain  for  Joe.  The 
slate  was  in  its  old  place,  and  a  messenger  came  and 
went  on  his  beat ;  but  a  strange  face  was  under  the  red 
cap,  and  this  man  had  two  arms  and  one  eye.  I  asked 
for  Collins,  but  the  new-comer  had  only  a  vague  idea 
that  he  was  dead  ;  and  the  same  answer  was  given  me 
at  headquarters,  though  none  of  the  busy  people  seemed 
to  know  when  or  where  he  died.  So  I  mourned  for 
Joe,  and  felt  that  it  was  very  hard  he  could  not  have 
lived  to  enjoy  the  promised  refuge ;  for,  relying  upon 
the  charity  that  never  fails,  the  Home  was  an  actual 
fact  now,  just  beginning  its  beneficent  career.     People 


266  PROVERB   STORIES. 

were  waking  up  to  this  diitj^,  money  was  coming  in, 
meetings  were  being  held,  and  ah-ead}'  a  few  poor  fel- 
lows were  in  the  refuge,  feeling  themselves  no  longer 
paupers,  but  invalid  soldiers  honorabl}"  supported  h\ 
the  State  they  had  served.  Talking  it  over  one  day 
with  a  friend,  who  spent  her  life  working  for  the  Associ- 
ated Charities,  she  said,  — 

"  By  the  way,  there  is  a  man  boarding  with  one  of  m}' 
poor  women,  who  ought  to  be  got  into  the  Home,  if  he 
will  go.  I  don't  know  much  about  him,  except  that  he 
was  in  the  army,  has  been  ver}^  ill  with  rheumatic  fever, 
and  is  friendless.  I  asked  Mrs.  Flanagin  how  she  man- 
aged to  keep  him,  and  she  said  she  had  help  while  he 
was  sick,  and  now  he  is  able  to  hobble  about,  he  takes 
care  of  the  children,  so  she  is  able  to  go  out  to  work. 
He  won't  go  to  his  own  town,  because  there  is  nothing 
for  him  there  but  the  almshouse,  and  he  dreads  a  hospi- 
tal ;  so  struggles  along,  trying  to  earn  his  bread  tending- 
babies  with  his  one  arm.  A  sad  case,  and  in  your 
line  ;  I  wish  you  'd  look  into  it." 

"That  sounds  like  my  Joe,  one  arm  and  all.  I'll 
go  and  see  him ;  I  've  a  weakness  for  soldiers,  sick  or 
well." 

I  went,  and  never  shall  forget  the  pathetic  little 
tableau  I  saw  as  I  opened  Mrs.  Flanagin's  dingy  door ; 
for  she  was  out,  and  no  one  heard  ni}^  tap.  The  room 
was  redolent  of  suds,  and  in  a  grove  of  damp  clothes 
hung  on  lines  sat  a  man  with  a  crying  bab}'  laid  across 
his  lap,  while  he  fed  three  small  children  standing  at 
his  knee  with  bread  and  molasses.  How  he  managed 
with  one  arm  to  keep  the  baby  from  squirming  on  to 
the   floor,  the  plate  from  upsetting,   and  to   feed  the 


MY  RED  CAP.  267 

liimgiy  urchins  who  stood  in  a  row  with  open  mouths, 
like  young  birds,  was  past  1113'  comprehension.  But  he 
did,  trotting  baby  gentl}',  dealing  out  sweet  morsels 
patienth',  and  whistling  to  himself,  as  if  to  beguile  his 
labors  cheerfull}'. 

The  broad  back,  the  long  legs,  the  faded  coat,  the 
low  whistle  were  all  familiar  ;  and,  dodging  a  wet  sheet, 
I  faced  the  man  to  find  it  was  indeed  m}^  Joe !  A  mere 
shadow  of  his  former  self,  after  months  of  suffering 
that  had  crippled  him  for  life,  but  brave  and  patient 
still ;  trying  to  help  himself,  and  slow  to  ask  aid  though 
brought  so  low. 

For  an  instant  I  could  not  speak  to  him,  and,  en- 
cumbered with  bab}',  dish,  spoon,  and  children,  he 
could  only  stare  at  me  with  a  sudden  brightening  of  the 
altered  face  that  made  it  full  of  welcome  before  a  word 
was  uttered. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  dead,  and  I  only  heard  of 
3'ou  by  accident,  not  knowing  I  should  find  my  old 
friend  alive,  but  not  well,  I  'm  afraid  ?  " 

"There  ain't  much  left  of  me  but  bones  and  pain, 
ma'am.  I  'm  powerful  glad  to  see  you  all  the  same. 
Dust  oflT  a  chair,  Patsey,  and  let  the  lady  set  down. 
You  go  in  the  corner,  and  take  turns  lickin'  the  dish, 
while  I  see  company,"  said  Joe,  disbanding  his  small 
troop,  and  shouldering  the  baby  as  if  presenting  arms 
in  honor  of  his  guest. 

"  Wh}^  did  n't  you  let  me  know  how  sick  you  were? 
And  how  came  they  to  think  you  dead?"  I  asked,  as 
he  festooned  the  wet  linen  out  of  the  way,  and  prepared 
to  enjo}^  himself  as  best  he  could. 

"  T  did  send  once,  when  things  was  at  the  wust*,  but 


268  PROVERB  STORIES. 

you  had  n't  got  back,  and  then  somehow  I  thought  1 
was  goin'  to  be  mustered  out  for  good,  and  so  would  n't 
trouble  nobody.  But  my  orders  ain't  come  yet,  and  I 
am  dohig  the  fust  thing  that  come  along.  It  ain't  much, 
but  the  good  soul  stood  by  me,  and  I  ani't  ashamed  to 
pay  my  debts  this  way,  sence  I  can't  do  it  in  no  other  ;  " 
and  Joe  cradled  the  chubby  baby  in  his  one  arm  as 
tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  his  own,  though  little  Biddy 
was  not  an  inviting  infant. 

"  That  is  very  beautiful  and  right,  Joe,  and  I  honor 
you  for  it ;  but  you  were  not  meant  to  tend  babies,  so 
sing  your  last  lullabies,  and  be  ready  to  go  to  the  Home 
as  soon  as  I  can  get  you  there." 

"  Realty,  ma'am?  I  used  to  la}^  and  kind  of  dream 
about  it  when  I  could  n't  stir  without  jellin'  out ;  but  I 
never  thought  it  would  ever  come  to  happen.  I  see  a 
piece  in  the  paper  describing  it,  and  it  sounded  dread- 
ful nice.  Should  n't  wonder  if  I  found  some  of  my 
mates  there.  They  were  a  good  lot,  and  deservin'  of 
all  that  could  be  done  for  'em,"  said  Joe,  trotting  the 
baby  briskly,  as  if  the  prospect  excited  him,  as  well  it 
might,  for  the  change  from  that  damp  nurser}^  to  the 
comfortable  quarters  prepared  for  him  would  be  like 
going  from  Purgatory  to  Paradise. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  don't  get  well  living  in  such  a 
place,  Joe.  You  should  have  gone  home  to  Woolwich, 
and  let  your  friends  help  you,"  I  said,  feeling  provoked 
with  him  for  hiding  himself. 

'^  No,  ma'am!"  he  answered,  with  a  look  I  never 
shall  forget,  it  was  so  full  of  mingled  patience,  pride, 
and  pain.  "I  haven't  a  relation  in  the  world  but  a 
couple  of  poor  old  aunts,   and  they  could  n't  do  any 


MY  RED  CAP.  269 

thing  for  me.  As  for  asking  help  of  folks  I  used  to 
know,  I  could  n't  do  it ;  and  if  you  think  1  'd  go  to 
Lucind}^  though  she  is  wal  off,  you  don't  know  Joe 
Colhns.  I  'd  die  fust  I  If  she  was  poor  and  I  rich,  I  'd 
do  for  her  Uke  a  brother  ;  but  I  could  n't  ask  no  favors 
of  her,  not  if  I  begged  my  vittles  in  the  street,  or 
starved.  I  forgive,  but  I  don't  forgit  in  a  hurry  ;  and 
the  woman  that  stood  by  me  when  I  was  down  is  the 
woman  I  believe  in,  and  can  take  my  bread  from  with- 
out shame.  Hooray  for  Biddy  Flanagin !  God  bless 
her !  "  and,  as  if  to  find  a  vent  for  the  emotion  that 
filled  his  eyes  with  grateful  tears,  Joe  led  off  the 
cheer,  which  the  children  shrilly  echoed,  and  I  joined 
heartily. 

"  I  shall  come  for  you  in  a  few  days  ;  so  cuddle  the 
baby  and  make  much  of  the  children  before  you  part. 
It  won't  take  3^ou  long  to  pack  up,  will  it?  "  I  asked,  as 
we  subsided  with  a  general  laugh. 

"  I  reckon  not  as  I  don't  own  any  clothes  but  what  I 
set  in,  except  a  couple  of  old  shirts  and  them  socks. 
M}'  hat 's  stoppin'  up  the  winder,  and  my  old  coat  is  my 
bed-cover.  I'm  awful  shabby,  ma'am,  and  that's  one 
reason  I  don't  go  out  more.  I  can  hobble  some,  but  I 
ain't  got  used  to  bein'  a  scarecrow  yet,"  and  Joe 
glanced  from  the  hose  without  heels  that  hung  on  the 
line  to  the  ragged  suit  he  wore,  with  a  resigned  ex- 
pression that  made  me  long  to  rush  out  and  buy  up  half 
the  contents  of  Oak  Hall  on  the  spot. 

Curbing  this  wild  impulse  I  presently  departed  with 
promises  of  speed}^  transportation  for  Joe,  and  unlimited 
oranges  to  assuage  the  pangs  of  parting  for  the  young 
Flanagins,  who  escorted  me  to   the  door,  while    Jog 


270  PROVERB  STORIES, 

waved  the  baby  like  a  triumphal  banner  till  I  got  round 
the  corner. 

There  was  such  a  beautiful  absence  of  red  tape  about 
the  new  institution  that  it  only  needed  a  word  in  the 
right  ear  to  set  things  going ;  and  then,  with  a  long 
pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all  together,  Joe  Collins 
was  taken  up  and  safely  landed  in  the  Home  he  so 
much  needed  and  so  well  deserved. 

A  happier  man  or  a  more  grateful  one  it  would  be 
hard  to  find,  and  if  a  visitor  wants  an  enthusiastic  guide 
about  the  place,  Joe  is  the  one  to  take,  for  all  is  com- 
fort, sunshine,  and  good-will  to  him  ;  and  he  uncon- 
sciously shows  how  great  the  need  of  this  refuge  is,  as 
he  hobbles  about  on  his  lame  feet,  pointing  out  its 
beauties,  conveniences,  and  deUghts  with  his  one  arm, 
while  his  face  shines,  and  his  voice  quavers  a  little  as 
he  says  gratefully,  — 

"The  State  don't  forget  us,  you  see,  and  this  is  a 
Home  wuth  havin'.     Long  life  to  it !  " 


[Written  in  1867.] 

WHAT    THE    BELLS    SAW    AND    SAID 

"  Bells  ring  others  to  church,  but  go  not  in  themselves." 


"'VyO  one  saw  the  spirits  of  the  bells  up  there  in  the 
-*-^  old  steeple  at  midnight  on  Christmas  Eve.  Six 
quaint  figures,  each  wrapped  in  a  shadowy  cloak  and 
wearing  a  bell-shaped  cap.  All  were  gra3'-headed,  for 
they  were  among  the  oldest  bell-spirits  of  the  city,  and 
' '  the  light  of  other  days "  shone  in  their  thoughtful 
ej'es.  Silently  the}^  sat,  looking  down  on  the  snow- 
covered  roofs  glittering  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  quiet 
streets  deserted  by  all  but  the  watchmen  on  their  chilly 
rounds,  and  such  poor  souls  as  wandered  shelterless  in 
the  winter  night.  Presently  one  of  the  spirits  said,  in 
a  tone,  which,  low  as  it  was,  filled  the  belfry  with  rever- 
berating echoes,  — 

"  Well,  brothers,  are  your  reports  ready  of  the  year 
that  now  lies  d3ing  ?  " 

All  bowed  their  heads,  and  one  of  the  oldest  answered 
in  a  sonorous  voice  :  — 

"  My  report  is  n't  all  I  could  wish.  You  know  I  look 
down  on  the  commercial  part  of  our  citj'  and  have  fine 
opportunities  for  seeing  what  goes  on  there.  It's  my 
business  to  watch  the  business  men,  and  upon  ra}^  word 
I  'm  heartil}^  ashamed  of  them  sometimes.  During  the 
war  they  did  nobly,  giving  their  time  and  money,  their 


272  PROVERB  STORIES. 

sons  and  selves  to  the  good  cause,  and  I  was  proud  of 
them.     But  now  too  many  of  them  have  fallen  back  into 
the  old  ways,  and  their  motto  seems  to  be,  '  Every  one 
for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.'     Cheat- 
ing, lying  and   steahng  are  hard  words,  and  I  don't 
mean  to  apply  them  to  all  who  swarm  about  below  there 
like  ants  on  an  ant-hill  —  they  have  other  names  for 
these  things,  but  I  'mold-fashioned  and  use  plain  words. 
There  's  a  deal  too  much  dishonesty  in  the  world,  and 
business  seems  to  hq,ve  become  a  game  of  hazard  in 
which  luck,   not  labor,   wins  the  prize.     When  I  was 
young,  men  were  years  making  moderate  fortunes,  and 
were°  satisfied   with  them.      They  built  them  on  sure 
foundations,  knew  how  to  enjoy  them  while  they  lived, 
and    to   leave    a  good  name  behind  them  when  they 

died. 

''Now  it's  anything  for  money ;  health,  happmess, 
honor,  life  itself,  are  flung  down  on  that  great  gaming- 
table, and  they  forget  everything  else  in  the  excitement 
of  success  or  the  desperation  of  defeat.  Nobody  seems 
satisfied  either,  for  those  who  win  have  little  time  or 
taste  to  enjov  their  prosperity,  and  those  who  lose  have 
little  courage  or  patience  to  support  them  in  adversity. 
They  don't  even  fail  as  they  used  to.  In  my  day  when 
a  merchant  found  himself  embarrassed  he  did  n't  ruin 
others  in  order  to  save  himself,  but  honestly  confessed 
the  truth,  gave  up  everything,  and  began  again.  But 
now-a-davs  after  all  manner  of  dishonorable  shifts 
there  comes  a  grand  crash;  many  suffer, -but  by  some 
hocus-pocus  the  merchant  saves  enough  to  retire  upon 
and  live  comfortably  here  or  abroad.  It 's  very  evident 
that  honor   and   honesty  don't   mean   now   what   th^^y 


WHAT   THE  BELLS  SAW  AND  SAID.     273 

ased  to  mean  in  the  days  of  old  May,  Iligginson  and 
Lawrence. 

'^The}^  preach  below  here,  and  ver}^  well  too  some- 
times, fojr  I  often  slide  down  the  rope  to  peep  and 
listen  during  service.  But,  bless  you  !  thc}^  don't  seem 
to  lay  either  sermon,  psalm  or  prayer  to  heart,  for  while 
the  minister  is  doing  his  best,  the  congregation,  tired 
with  the  breathless  huny  of  the  week,  sleep  peacefully, 
calculate  their  chances  for  the  morrow,  or  wonder  which 
of  their  neighbors  will  lose  or  win  in  the  great  game. 
Don't  tell  me  !  I  've  seen  them  do  it,  and  if  I  dared  I  'd 
have  startled  every  soul  of  them  with  a  rousing  peal. 
Ah,  they  don't  dream  whose  eye  is  on  them,  they  never 
guess  what  secrets  the  telegraph  wires  tell  as  the 
messages  %  b}',  and  little  know  what  a  report  I  give  to 
the  winds  of  heaven  as  I  ring  out  above  them  morning, 
noon,  and  night."  And  the  old  spirit  shook  his  head 
till  the  tassel  on  his  cap  jangled  like  a  little  bell. 

"  There  are  some,  however,  whom  I  love  and  honor," 
he  said,  in  a  benignant  tone,  "  who  honestly  earn  their 
bread,  who  deserve  all  the  success  that  comes  to  them, 
and  always  keep  a  warm  corner  in  their  noble  hearts 
for  those  less  blest  than  they.  These  are  the  men  who 
serve  the  citj'  in  times  of  peace,  save  it  in  times  of  war, 
deserve  the  highest  honors  in  its  gift,  and  leave  behind 
them  a  record  that  keeps  their  memories  green.  For 
such  an  one  we  lately  tolled  a  knell,  my  brothers ;  and 
as  our  united  voices  pealed  over  the  city,  in  all  grateful 
hearts,  sweeter  and  more  solemn  than  any  chime,  rung 
the  words  that  made  him  so  beloved,  — 

'' '  Treat  our  dead  boys  tenderly,  and  send  them  home 
to  me.'  " 

18 


274  PROVERB  STORIES. 

He  ceased,  and  all  the  spirits  reverently  uncovered 
their  gray  heads  as  a  strain  of  music  floated  up  from  the 
sleeping  city  and  died  among  the  stars. 

"  Like  3'ours,  m}'  report  is  not  satisfactory  in  all  re- 
spects," began  the  second  spirit,  who  wore  a  very 
pointed  cap  and  a  finely  ornamented  cloak.  But, 
though  his  dress  was  fresh  and  j'outhful,  his  face 
was  old,  and  he  had  nodded  several  times  during  his 
brother's  speech.  "My  greatest  affliction  during  the 
past  year  has  been  the  terrible  extravagance  which 
prevails.  My  post,  as  you  know,  is  at  the  court  end  of 
the  city,  and  I  see  all  the  fashionable  vices  and  folhes. 
It  is  a  marvel  to  me  how  so  many  of  these  immortal 
creatures,  with  such  opportunities  for  usefulness,  self- 
improvement  and  genuine  happiness  can  be  content  to 
go  round  and  round  in  one  narrow  circle  of  unprofitable 
and  unsatisfactor}'  pursuits.  I  do  my  best  to  warn 
them  ;  Sunday  after  Sunday  I  chime  in  their  ears  the 
beautiful  old  hymns  that  sweetly  chide  or  cheer  the 
hearts  that  truly  listen  and  believe  ;  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day I  look  down  on  them  as  they  pass  in,  hoping  to  see 
that  my  words  have  not  fallen  upon  deaf  ears  ;  and 
Sunday  after  Sunday  they  listen  to  words  that  should 
teach  them  much,  yet  seem  to  go  by  them  lilic  the  wind. 
They  are  told  to  love  their  neighbor,  yet  too  many  hate 
him  because  he  possesses  more  of  this  world's  goods  or 
honors  than  they  ;  they  are  told  that  a  rich  man  cannot 
enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  yet  they  go  on  laying  up 
perishable  wealth,  and  though  often  warned  that  moth 
and  rust  will  corru[)t,  they  fail  to  believe  it  till  the  worm 
that  destroys  enters  and  mars  their  own  chapel  of  ease. 
Being  a  spirit,  1  see  below  external  splendor  and  find 


WHAT  THE  BELLS   SAW  AND  SAID.     275 

much  povert}'  of  heart  and  soul  under  the  velvet  and 
the  ermine  which  should  cover  rich  and  royal  natures. 
Our  cit}'  saints  walk  abroad  in  threadbare  suits,  and 
under  quiet  bonnets  shine  the  ejes  that  make  sunshine 
in  the  shady  places.  Often  as  I  watch  the  glittering 
procession  passing  to  and  fro  below  me,  I  wonder  if, 
with  all  our  progress,  there  is  to-da3'  as  much  real  piet}^ 
as  in  the  times  when  our  fathers,  poorly  clad,  with 
weapon  in  one  hand  and  Bible  in  the  other,  came  weary 
distances  to  worship  in  the  wilderness  with  fervent 
faith  unquenched  by  danger,  suffering  and  solitude. 

''  Yet  in  spite  of  my  fault-finding  I  love  my  children, 
as  I  call  them,  for  all  are  not  butterflies.  Man}"  find 
wealth  no  temptation  to  forgetfulness  of  duty  or  hard- 
ness of  heart.  Many  give  freel}"  of  their  abundance, 
pit}"  the  poor,  comfort  the  aflSicted,  and  make  our  city 
loved  and  honored  in  other  lands  as  in  our  own.  They 
have  their  cares,  losses,  and  heartaches  as  well  as  the 
poor ;  it  is  n't  all  sunshine  with  them,  and  they  learn, 
poor  souls,  that 

*  Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary.' 

"  But  I  've  hopes  of  them,  and  lately  they  have  had  a 
teacher  so  genial,  so  gifted,  so  well-beloved  that  all  who 
listen  to  him  must  be  better  for  the  lessons  of  charity, 
good-will  and  cheerfulness  which  he  brings  home  to  them 
by  the  magic  of  tears  and  smiles.  We  know  him,  we 
love  him,  we  always  remember  him  as  the  year  comes 
round,  and  the  blithest  song  our  brazen  tongues  utter 
is  a  Christmas  carol  to  the  Father  of  The  Chimes  !  '" 

As  the  spirit  spoke  his  voice  grew  cheery,  his  old 


276  PROVERB   STORIES. 

face  shone,  and  in  a  burst  of  heart}"  enthusiasm  he  flung 
up  his  cap  and  cheered  like  a  boy.  So  did  the  otliers, 
and  as  the  fairy  shout  echoed  through  the  belfry  a 
troop  of  shadowy  figures,  with  faces  lovel^'or  grotesque, 
tragical  or  gaj- ,  sailed  by  on  the  wings  of  the  wintrj' 
wind  and  waved  their  hands  to  the  spirits  of  the 
bells. 

As  the  excitement  subsided  and  the  spirits  reseated 
themselves,  looking  ten  years  ^^ounger  for  that  burst, 
another  spoke.  A  venerable  brother  in  a  dingy  mantle, 
with  a  tuneful  voice,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  grown 
sad  with  looking  on  much  misery. 

"  He  loves  the  poor,  the  man  we've  just  hurrahed 
for,  and  he  makes  others  love  and  remember  them,  bless 
him  !  "  said  the  spirit.  "  I  hope  he'll  touch  the  hearts 
of  those  who  listen  to  him  here  and  beguile  them  to 
open  their  hands  to  my  unhappy  children  over  yonder. 
If  I  could  set  some  of  the  forlorn  souls  in  m}'  parish 
beside  the  happier  creatures  who  weep  over  imaginary 
woes  as  they  are  painted  by  his  eloquent  lips,  that 
brilliant  scene  would  be  better  than  an}'  sermon.  Day 
and  night  I  look  down  on  lives  as  full  of  sin,  self-sacri- 
fice and  suffering  as  an}^  in  those  famous  books.  Day 
and  night  I  try  to  comfort  the  poor  b}'  my  cheery  voice, 
and  to  make  their  wants  known  by  proclaiming  them 
with  all  my  miglit.  But  people  seem  to  be  so  intent  on 
business,  pleasure  or  home  duties  that  they  have  no 
time  to  hear  and  answer  my  appeal.  There  's  a  deal  of 
charity  in  this  good  city,  and  when  the  people  do  wake 
up  they  work  with  a  will ;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  that 
if  some  of  the  money  lavished  on  luxuries  was  spent  on 
necessaries  for  the  poor,  there  would  be  fewer  tragedies 


WHAT   THE  BELLS  SAW  AND  SAID.     277 

like  that  which  ended  3-esterday.  It 's  a  short  stoiy, 
easy  to  tell,  though  long  and  hard  to  live  ;  listen  to  it. 

"  Down  yonder  in  the  garret  of  one  of  the  squalid 
houses  at  the  foot  of  my  tower,  a  little  girl  has  lived  for 
a  year,  fighting  silently  and  single-handed  a  good  fight 
against  poverty  and  sin.  I  saw  her  when  she  first 
came,  a  hopeful,  cheerful,  brave-hearted  little  soul, 
alone,  3'et  not  afraid.  She  used  to  sit  all  da}^  sewing 
at  her  window,  and  her  lamp  burnt  far  into  the  night,  for 
she  was  very  poor,  and  all  she  earned  would  barely  give 
her  food  and  shelter.  I  watched  her  feed  the  doves, 
who  seemed  to  be  her  only  friends ;  she  never  forgot 
them,  and  daily  gave  them  the  few  crumbs  that  fell 
from  her  meagre  table.  But  there  was  no  kind  hand 
to  feed  and  foster  the  Kttle  human  dove,  and  so  she 
starved. 

"For  a  while  she  worked  bravely,  but  thepoor  three 
dollars  a  week  would  not  clothe  and  feed  "Snd  warm  her, 
though  the  things  her  bus}^  fingers  made  sold  for  enough 
to  keep  her  comfortabty  if  she  had  received  it.  I  saw 
the  prett3"  color  fade  from  her  cheeks ;  her  ej'es  grew 
hollow,  her  voice  lost  its  cheer^^  ring,  her  step  its 
elasticit}^,  and  her  face  began  to  wear  the  haggard, 
anxious  look  that  made  its  youth  doubly  pathetic.  Her 
poor  little  gowns  grew  shabb}^,  her  shawl  so  thin  she 
shivered  when  the  pitiless  wind  smote  her,  and  her  feet 
were  almost  bare.  Rain  and  snow  beat  on  the  patient 
little  figure  going  to  and  fro,  each  morning  with  hope 
and  courage  faintly  shining,  each  evening  with  the 
shadow  of  despair  gathering  darker  round  her.  It  was 
a  hard  time  for  all,  desperately  hard  for  her,  and  in  her 
poverty,  siii  and  pleasure  tempted  her.     She  resisted, 


278  PROVERB  STORIES. 

but  as  another  hitter  winter  came  she  feared  that  in  her 
misery  she  might  3'ield,  for  body  and  soul  were  weak- 
ened now  by  the  long  struggle.  She  knew  not  where 
to  turn  for  help ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  place  for  her 
at  any  safe  and  happy  fireside ;  life's  hard  aspect 
daunted  her,  and  she  turned  to  death,  saying  con- 
fidingl}",  '  Take  me  while  I  'm  innocent  and  not  afraid 
to  go.' 

"  I  saw  it  all !  I  saw  how  she  sold  everything  that 
would  bring  mone}^  and  paid  her  little  debts  to  the 
utmost  penny  ;  how  she  set  her  poor  room  in  order  for 
the  last  time  ;  how  she  tenderly  bade  the  doves  good- 
by,  and  la}'  down  on  her  bed  to  die.  At  nine  o'clock 
last  night  as  my  bell  rang  over  the  city,  I  tried  to 
tell  what  was  going  on  in  the  garret  where  the  light 
was  dying  out  so  fast.  I  cried  to  them  with  all  my 
strength,  — 

"'Kind  souls,  below  there !  a  fellow-creature  is 
perishing  for  lack  of  charity  !  Oh,  help  her  before  it 
is  too  late !  Mothers,  with  little  daughters  on  your 
knees,  stretch  out  3'Our  hands  and  take  her  in  !  Happy 
women,  in  the  safe  shelter  of  home,  think  of  her  deso- 
lation !  Rich  men,  who  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor, 
remember  that  this  soul  will  one  day  be  required  of 
3'ou  !  Dear  Lord,  let  not  this  little  sparrow  fall  to  the 
ground  !  Help,  Christian  men  and  women,  in  the  name 
of  Him  whose  birthday  blessed  the  world  ! ' 

"  Ah  me  !  I  rang,  and  clashed,  and  cried  in  vain. 
The  passers-b}^  only  said,  as  thej^  hurried  home,  laden 
with  Christmas  cheer :  '  The  old  bell  is  merry  to-night, 
as  it  should  be  at  this  blithe  season,  bless  it ! ' 

"  As  the  clocks  struck  ten,  the  poor  child  lay  down, 


WHAT   THE  BELLS   SAW  AND  SAW.     279 

sa3ing,  as  she  drank  the  last  bitter  draught  life  could  give 
her,  '  It's  very  cold,  but  soon  I  shall  not  feel  it; '  and 
with  her  quiet  eyes  fixed  on  the  cross  that  glimmered 
in  the  moonlight  above  me,  she  lay  waiting  for  the  sleep 
that  needs  no  lullab3\ 

"As  the  clock  struck  eleven,  pain  and  poverty- for 
her  were  over.  It  was  bitter  cold,  but  she  no 
longer  felt  it.  She  lay  serenely  sleeping,  with  tired 
heart  and  hands,  at  rest  forever.  As  the  clocks  struck 
twelve,  the  dear  Lord  remembered  her,  and  with 
fatherly  hand  led  her  into  the  home  where  there  is  room 
for  all.  To-day  I  rung  her  knell,  and  though  my  heart 
was  heav}",  3'et  my  soul  was  glad  ;  for  in  spite  of  all  her 
human  woe  and  weakness,  I  am  sure  that  little  girl  will 
keep  a  joyful  Christmas  up  in  heaven." 

In  the  silence  which  the  spirits  for  a  moment  kept,  a 
breath  of  softer  air  than  any  from  the  snowy  world  be- 
low swept  through  the  steeple  and  seemed  to  whisper, 
"Yes!" 

"  Avast  there !  fond  as  I  am  of  salt  water,  I  don't 
like  this  kind,"  cried  the  breezy  voice  of  the  fourth 
spirit,  who  had  a  tiny  ship  instead  of  a  tassel  on  his 
cap,  and  who  wiped  his  wet  eyes  with  the  sleeve  of  his 
rough  blue  cloak.  "  It  won't  take  me  long  to  spin  my 
3'arn ;  for  things  are  pretty  taut  and  ship-shape  aboard 
our  craft.  Captain  Taylor  is  an  experienced  sailor,  and 
has  brought  many  a  ship  safely  into  port  in  spite  of 
wind  and  tide,  and  the  devil's  own  whirlpools  and 
hurricanes.  If  you  want  to  see  earnestness  come 
aboard  some  Sunday  when  the  Captain  's  on  the  quar- 
ter-deck, and  take  an  observation.  No  danger  of  falling 
asleep  there,  no  more  than  there  is  up  aloft,  '  when  the 


280  PROVERB  STORIES. 

stormy  winds  do  blow.'  Consciences  get  raked  fore  a»id 
aft,  sins  are  blown  clean  out  of  the  water,  false  colors 
are  hauled  down  and  true  ones  run  up  to  the  masthead, 
and  man}^  an  immortal  soul  is  warned  to  steer  off  in 
time  from  the  pirates,  rocks  and  quicksands  of  tempta- 
tion. He  's  a  regular  revolving  light,  is  the  Captain,  — 
a  beacon  always  burning  and  saying  plainly,  '  Here  are 
life-boats,  read}"  to  put  off  in  all  weathers  and  bring  the 
shipwrecked  into  quiet  waters.'  He  comes  but  seldom 
now,  being  laid  up  in  the  home  dock,  tranquilly  waiting 
till  his  turn  comes  to  go  out  with  the  tide  and  safely 
ride  at  anchor  in  the  great  harbor  of  the  Lord.  Our 
crew  varies  a  good  deal.  Some  of  'em  have  rather 
rough  voyages,  and  come  into  port  pretty  well  battered  ; 
land-sharks  fall  foul  of  a  good  man}^  and  do  a  deal  of 
damage  ;  but  most  of  'em  carr^-  brave  and  tender  hearts 
under  the  blue  jackets,  for  their  rough  nurse,  the  sea, 
manages  to  keep  something  of  the  child  alive  in  the 
grayest  old  tar  that  makes  the  world  his  picture-book. 
We  try  to*  supply'  'em  with  life-preservers  while  at  sea, 
and  make  'em  feel  sure  of  a  hearty  welcome  when  ashore, 
and  I  believe  the  year  '67  will  sail  away  into  eternity 
with  a  satisfactory  cargo.  Brother  North-End  made  me 
pipe  my  e\^e  ;  so  I  '11  make  him  laugh  to  pay  for  it,  b}'' 
telling  a  clerical  joke  I  heard  the  other  day.  Bell-ows 
did  n't  make  it,  though  he  might  have  done  so,  as 
he  's  a  connection  of  ours,  and  knows  how  to  use  his 
tongue  as  well  as  an}'  of  us.  Speaking  of  the  bells  of  a 
certain  town,  a  reverend  gentleman  affirmed  that  each 
bell  uttered  an  appropriate  remark  so  plainly,  that  the 
words  were  audible  to  all.  The  Baptist  bell  cried, 
briskly,   '  Come  up  and  be  dipped !  come  up  and  be. 


WHAT   THE   BELLS   SAW  AND   SAW.      281 

dipped  ! '  The  Episcopal  bell  slowly  said,  '  Apos-tol-ic 
suc-cess-ion  !  apos-tol-ic  suc-cess-ion  !  '  The  Orthodox 
bell  solemulj'  pronounced,  '  Eternal  damnation  !  eternal 
damnation ! '  and  the  Methodist  shouted,  inviting!}', 
'  Room  for  all !  room  for  all ! ' " 

As  the  spirit  imitated  the  various  calls,  as  onl}-  a 
jovial  bell- sprite  could,  the  others  gave  him  a  chime  of 
laughter,  and  vowed  the}'  would  each  adopt  some  tune- 
ful summons,  which  should  reach  human  ears  and  draw 
human  feet  more  willingly  to  church. 

''  Faith,  brother,  3'ou  've  kept  3'our  word  and  got  the 
laugh  out  of  us,"  cried  a  stout,  sleek  spirit,  with  a 
kindl}'  face,  and  a  row  of  little  saints  round  his  cap  and 
a  rosar}'  at  his  side.  "  It 's  verj'  well  we  are  doing  this 
year  ;  the  cathedral  is  full,  the  flock  increasing,  and  the 
true  faith  holding  its  own  entirely.  Ye  may  shake  your 
heads  if  you  will  and  fear  there'll  be  trouble,  but  I 
doubt  it.  We  've  warm  hearts  of  our  own,  and  the  best 
of  us  don't  forget  that  when  we  were  starving,  America 
—  the  saints  bless  the  jewel !  —  sent  us  bread  ;  when 
we  were  dying  for  lack  of  work,  America  opened  her 
arms  and  took  us  in,  and  now  helps  us  to  build 
churches,  homes  and  schools  b}^  giving  us  a  share  of 
the  riches  all  men  work  for  and  win.  It 's  a  generous 
nation  ye  are,  and  a  brave  one,  and  we  showed  our 
gratitude  by  fighting  for  3'e  in  the  da}'  of  trouble  and 
giving  ye  our  Phil,  and  many  another  broth  of  a  boy. 
The  land  is  wide  enough  for  us  both,  and  while  we 
work  and  fight  and  grow  together,  each  may  learn 
something  from  the  other.  I  'm  free  to  confess  that 
your  religion  looks  a  bit  cold  and  hard  to  me,  even  here 
in  the  good  city  where  each  man  may  ride  his  own 


282  PROVERB  STORIES. 

hobby  to  death,  and  hoot  at  his  neighbors  as  much  as 
he  will.  You  seem  to  keep  3'our  piet}'  shut  up  all  the 
week  in  jour  bare,  white  churches,  and  onl}*  let  it  out  on 
Sunda3's,  just  a  trifle  mustj^  with  disuse.  You  set  jour 
rich,  w^arm  and  soft  to  the  fore,  and  leave  the  poor 
shivering  at  the  door.  You  give  3'our  people  bare  walls 
to  look  upon,  common-place  music  to  listen  to,  dull 
sermons  to  put  them  asleep,  and  then  wonder  wlw 
the}^  sta}'  awa}^,  or  take  no  interest  when  they  come. 

' '  We  leave  our  doors  open  day  and  night ;  our 
lamps  are  alwa3's  burning,  and  we  ma3^  come  into  our 
Father's  house  at  an3'  hour.  We  let  rich  and  poor 
kneel  together,  all  being  equal  there.  With  us  abroad 
you  '11  see  prince  and  peasant  side  b3^  side,  school-bo3' 
and  bishop,  market-woman  and  noble  lad3",  saint  and 
sinner,  praying  to  the  Holy  Mary,  whose  motherl3'  arms 
are  open  to  high  and  low.  We  make  our  churches  in- 
viting with  immortal  music,  pictures  b3"  the  world's 
great  masters,  and  rites  that  are  splendid  S3'mbols  of 
the  faith  we  hold.  Call  it  mummery  if  3'e  like,  but  let 
me  ask  3'ou  wh3'  so  many  of  3'our  sheep  stray  into  our 
fold  ?  It 's  because  they  miss  the  warmth,  the  heart3', 
the  maternal  tenderness  which  all  souls  love  and  long 
for,  and  fail  to  find  in  your  stern.  Puritanical  belief. 
B3''  Saint  Peter !  I  've  seen  manj"  a  lukewarm  wor- 
shipper, who  for  3'ears  has  nodded  in  3'our  cushioned 
pews,  wake  and  glow  with  something  akin  to  genuine 
piet3^  while  kneeling  on  the  stone  pavement  of  one  of 
our  cathedrals,  with  Paphael's  angels  before  his  e3''es, 
with  strains  of  magnificent  music  in  his  ears,  and  all 
al)out  him,  in  shapes  of  power  or  beauty,  the  saints 
and   martyrs  who   have   saved  the  world,   and  whose 


WHAT   THE   BELLS   SAW  AND   SAID.     283 

presence  inspires  liim  to  follow  their  divine  example. 
It's  not  complaining  of  ye  I  am,  but  just  reminding  ye 
that  men  are  but  children  after  all,  and  need  more 
tempting  to  virtue  than  they  do  to  vice,  which  last 
comes  easy  to  'em  since  the  Fall.  Do  your  best  in  your 
own  ways  to  get  the  poor  souls  into  bliss,  and  good 
luck  to  ye.  But  remember,  there's  room  in  the  Holy 
Mother  Church  for  all,  and  when  your  own  priests 
send  ye  to  the  divil,  come  straight  to  us  and  we  'U 
take  3^e  in." 

"  A  truly  Catholic  welcome,  bull  and  all,"  said  the 
sixth  spirit,  who,  in  spite  of  his  old-fashioned  garments, 
had  a  youthful  face,  earnest,  fearless  eyes,  and  an 
energetic  voice  that,  woke  the  echoes  with  its  vigorous 
tones.  ''I've  a  hopeful  report,  brothers,  for  the  re- 
forms of  the  day  are  wheeling  into  rank  and  marching 
on.  The  war  is  n't  over  nor  rebeldom  conquered  yet, 
but  the  Old  Guard  has  been  '  up  and  at  'em '  through 
the  year.  There  has  been  some  hard  fighting,  rivers  of 
ink  have  flowed,  and  the  Washington  dawdlers  have 
signalized  themselves  by  a  '  masterly  inactivity.'  The 
political  campaign  has  been  an  anxious  one ;  some  of 
the  leaders  have  deserted  ;  some  been  mustered  out ; 
some  have  fallen  gallantly,  and  as  yet  have  received  no 
monuments.  But  at  the  Grand  Review  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor  wiU  surely  shine  on  man3''  a  brave 
breast  that  won  no  decoration  but  its  virtue  here ; 
for  the  world's  fanatics  make  heaven's  heroes,  poets 
say. 

"The  flock  of  Nightingales  that  flew  South  during 
the  '  winter  of  our  discontent'  are  all  at  home  again, 
some  here  and    some   in  Heaven.      But  the  music  of 


284  PROVERB  STORIES. 

their  womanly  heroism  still  lingers  in  the  nation's  mem* 
or}^,  and  makes  a  tender  minor-chord  in  the  battle-hymn 
of  freedom. 

"  The  reform  in  literature  is  n't  as  vigorous  as  I  could 
wish ;  but  a  sharp  attack  of  mental  and  moral  dys- 
pepsia will  soon  teach  our  people  that  French  con- 
fectionery and  the  bad  pastry  of  Wood,  Braddon, 
Yates  &  Co.  is  not  the  best  diet  for  the  rising  genera- 
tion. 

"  Speaking  of  the  rising  generation  reminds  me  of 
the  schools.  They  are  doing  well ;  the}'  alwaj's  are, 
and  we  are  justly  proud  of  them.  There  ma}'  be  a 
slight  tendency'  toward  placing  too  much  value  upon 
book-learning  ;  too  little  upon  home  culture.  Our  girls 
are  acknowledged  to  be  uncommonly  pretty,  witty  and 
wise,  but  some  of  us  wish  they  had  more  health  and 
less  excitement,  more  domestic  accomplishments  and 
fewer  ologies  and  isms,  and  were  contented  with  simple 
pleasures  and  the  old-fashioned  virtues,  and  not  quite 
so  fond  of  the  fast,  frivolous  life  that  makes  them  old 
so  soon.  I  am  fond  of  our  girls  and  boj'S.  I  love  to 
ring  for  their  christenings  and  marriages,  to  toll  proudly 
for  the  brave  lads  in  blue,  and  tenderly  for  the  innocent 
creatures  whose  seats  are  empty  under  ni}-  old  roof.  I 
want  to  see  them  anxious  to  make  Young  America  a 
model  of  virtue,  strength  and  beaut}',  and  I  believe  they 
will  in  time. 

"  There  have  been  some  important  revivals  in  re- 
ligion ;  for  the  world  won't  stand  still,  and  we  must 
keep  pace  or  be  left  behind  to  fossilize.  A  free  nation 
must  have  a  religion  broad  enough  to  embrace  all  man- 
kind, deep  enough  to  fathom  and  fill  the  human  soul, 


WHAT  THE  BELLS  SAW  AND  SAID.     285 

high  enough  to  reach  the  source  of  all  love  and  wisdom, 
aud  pure  enough  to  satisfy-  the  wisest  and  the  best. 
Alarm  bell^  have  been  rung,  anathemas  pronounced, 
and  Christians,  forgetful  of  their  creed,  have  abused 
one  another  heartilj'.  But  the  truth  always  triumphs 
in  the  end,  and  whoever  sincerely  believes,  works  and 
waits  for  it,  by  whatever  name  he  calls  it,  will  surely 
find  his  own  faith  blessed  to  him  in  proportion  to  his 
charit}^  for  the  faith  of  others. 

^'  But  look  !  —  the  first  red  streaks  of  dawn  are  in  the 
East.  Our  vigil  is  over,  and  we  must  fl}-  home  to  wel- 
come in  the  hohdaj's.  Before  we  part,  join  with  me, 
brothers,  in  resolving  that  through  the  coming  year  we 
will  with  all  our  hearts  and  tongues,  — 

*  Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 
Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  truej 
Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 
Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be.' " 

Then  hand  in  hand  the  spirits  of  the  bells  floated 
away,  singing  in  the  hush  of  dawn  the  sweet  song  the 
stars  sung  over  Bethlehem,  —  "Peace  on  earth,  good 
will  to  men." 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


